The Fifth Cardinal Point
by twLucy31
Summary: A few months after being attacked by Peter, Lydia and her mom leave Beacon Hills and move to Europe. Ten years after, Lydia meets a boy she barely knew in high school and decides to follow him. Or, another fic in which Stiles and Lydia heal each other's wounds...
1. Prologue

Lydia Martin grew up in a small town in California, surrounded by her mother and her father.

When she was a child, she had a keen interest in everything and she fought with all of her strength the idea that girls had to love pink and sweet things. She didn't like pink, she hated playing with dolls and she abhorred strawberry jam.

She tried to stay away from everything that could make her be seen as a "good girl". She liked mathematics, she liked to know the limits, and she liked rules and proportions. They made her feel safe. She liked stories with bold and fearless young girls. She idolized Marie Curie. She didn't have lots of friends, but the ones she had were more than enough.

But on a cold morning, her father left. Without saying anything, without even kissing her goodbye. Suddenly, loneliness weighed too heavy on her shoulders, and she shaped herself a new identity. She began to dress in pink, to hide her curiosity, her books; and she forced herself to eat strawberry jam with a smile. All she could recognize was this fake, factory-made taste that always left too much sugar on her lips, but it was apparently the price a girl like her had to pay to avoid loneliness. She only associated with the most popular girls and boys and soon, the little girl who dreamed about making a radical change in mathematics drowned herself. She was still here, somewhere, but she was starving.

In her shadow, a young boy grew up, admiring her from afar. Not the Lydia she kept showing to everyone but the one she kept prisoner deep inside. When he was a child, he pictured himself coming to her rescue on a white horse just like in the fairy tales his mother read to him. Later, when he discovered _Star War_ s (and thought it was the best thing on earth), he dreamed he was a Jedi knight, fighting all of her suitors, all of them ignoring her true self, her true spirit. He would take her in his space ship and bring her to the most beautiful planet where they would spend their days swimming in the sea and eating ice cream. He refused to have a tragic fate, and he had always preferred the pragmatic Luke to the emotional Anakin. Luke remained his role model during his entire childhood, he wanted to follow his steps. Wanted to always make his friends and family a priority while respecting the value of human life. It was the only way he could create a peaceful and happy world for Lydia.

Sadly, his mother died from a terrible disease and he figured that he didn't have the stature of a prince and even less of a Jedi when he couldn't even save his mother. He stopped comparing himself with Luke, fearing that his life was becoming too similar to Anakin's.

Years passed, but Stiles Stilinski kept observing Lydia, trying his best to make life easier for her without waiting for anything in return. It had become a part of his DNA. Day after day he fed his love for her. He fought all those cavemen who called her an easy girl or a bitch. He corrected those who called her a redhead. _It's strawberry blonde,_ she'd told the class full of eight year-olds. _The French call it Venetian blonde._ He remembered, why couldn't anyone else? Venetian blonde. His one and only Venetian goddess. Without equal.

Thus, they grew up, safe from any other shadow until the world decided to turn its attention on them again. They fell into a spiral of violence and death, were forced to grow up and grow wiser too quickly, too brutally.

Lydia stopped eating strawberry jam and isolated herself in the sterile and reassuring world of mathematics after moving to Europe when she was 16 years old.

Stiles protected that part of himself, the part of him that lived only for Lydia, for a long time, and he protected it at any cost. Just like the orchid that sat in his mom's hospital room, he would tend to that part of himself, watering it regularly to keep it alive.

But when Lydia left for good without having ever set an eye on him, he let that part of him wither. Just like his mother's orchid. Once she was no longer there, there was no point in keeping it pretty for her any more.

Sometimes, in his sleep, he would water that proverbial plant inside of him with a few tears. Keeping it alive. Weak, but still there.


	2. Lost souls swimming in a fishbowl

_The little path disappeared into the bowels of the city. A tortuous path bordered by dilapidated buildings. The path was so narrow and the buildings so close next to each other that if one would raise his head, he would barely make out the sky during a storm._ _With the passing of time, the roofs began to come even closer to each other. For years, every building had been on the verge of collapsing, threatening to forever erase this path where only stray dogs and young people searching for the thrill ventured._

 _Legend had it that a monster hid itself somewhere in this maze, a monster with red eyes. Some said that it was once a man. A man able to turn into a wolf and that one day, after living for so long in the skin of an animal and feeding on human flesh, he lost his mind, roaming in the dying heart of a nameless city. He became incapable of finding an exit and never managed to remember its original shape._

 _Others said that this thing was neither human, nor animal and swore they saw a tentacle appear from nowhere while hearing a guttural groan and a voice ordering them to come closer. Over time, tourists and passers-by learned to keep a respectful distance with this alley where hell seemed to have taken residence._

 _Some nosy people didn't really care about those fears but every month, even they could hear those barely human cries echoing in empty streets and reminding everyone in the city, that somewhere in the shadows, an unknown evil was prowling._

* * *

Today was a big day for her, the fulfilment of a huge part of her life spent trying to make a difference in the research in mathematics, struggling to finish her project in time, struggling against herself and against her loneliness. She had never really been alone, she had always known how to surround herself with people. No, she had never been alone. But she had been lonely. Isolated in her head, in herself, no one seemed to ever be able to reach her, fathom her soul and her personality, to complement her aspirations and needs.

Her eyes locked on the wall, a steaming cup of tea in the hands, she felt under her fingers the scar covering her left hip. The movement had become instinctive with the years, an answer to an ache that came back every now and then. She finished her tea, burning her throat in the process.

She kept glancing at the cake leftovers from the day before. They had a party at work and her colleagues let her keep the cake. It used to say "Congratulations Lydia!" but "-ations -ia!" was all that was left. She grabbed a fork and jabbed it into the exclamation point, before taking a huge bite. Her mum would have yelled at her but who cares… today it was the breakfast of a Field's Medal recipient.

The sun began to rise, the sky was orange-pink and the birds awoke in the morning dew. She was about to receive the Field's Medal and compliments that would make her smile. So many signs indicated that she was about to begin a new life. But she didn't believe in such omens and a dizziness reminded her that once the peak was reached, the only way left was down. It had always been like this. It was a lesson she learned the hardest way a long time ago, on another continent, in another life…

She took the subway and during the entire journey, she had an unpleasant feeling that something was about to happen, something serious, dark and inhuman. She tried to suppress this feeling that started to build a lump deep in her throat, making her want to scream with all her strength. By the time she reached her station, her eyes were burning with tears. She ran out, trying to calm herself, focusing on her breathing.

That's when she saw it. A dark shape sitting in the middle of the street. Eyes she would never forget, anchored in her retina. _It_ was looking at her. They were alone. Suddenly it was the night, she was 15. He came out of the shadows and threw himself at her. Blood. A high-pitched sound in her ears. Wet grass on her bare skin. Violence. Red eyes. Pitch black.

She still remembered the look of disbelief in the eyes of the policeman when she told him of the attack. At first, he was horrified by the sight of this teenage girl covered in blood, her wild eyes full of tears. Her silver dress torn apart. Her mother was in tears. She had stayed by her side, not knowing how to hold her, too afraid to hurt her even more.

Then, the eyes of the policeman took the colour of boredom, thinking this was another prank when she said she had been attacked by a man in his forties, a man with red eyes. And fangs. She had tried to describe what happened as much as she could but everything was a blur after the moment the man threw himself at her.

The policeman kept tirelessly asking about the weapon. What was it? It had to be sharp given the scar! Was she raped? Is that why she couldn't talk? Because she was traumatized? Ashamed?

She didn't have any answer. It happened a few minutes ago but she could only summarize the memory in one nagging pain that had started in her left hip before spreading in her entire body and an irrational fear. The same she felt every time she was confronted with inexplicable stories involving paranormal, ghosts or spirits of the dead. A paralysing fear that chilled her to the bones and crept beneath her flesh.

The way she described the man was so confused, contained so may strange details, that the policeman ended up leaving to let the doctors examine her.

It happened over ten years ago but she was still sure that the weapon used was the man himself. Her Cartesian mind refused the idea but she knew deep down, that she had been attacked by a monster. A monster in the literal sense of the word. Something that no mathematical or physical law could explain. And this simple idea filled her with an unspeakable terror.

It was light again. She opened her eyes, not remembering when she closed them. The thing in front of her had seemed to change its shape. It was a man, watching her, seeming like he wanted to tell her something. She came closer, almost hypnotized. He wasn't producing words but sounds, as if he hadn't spoken in years. He was struggling to articulate and opened even more his mouth, looking for oxygen. She caught sight of sharp teeth and suddenly came back to reality, collecting her wits. She ran away, trying to forget words she thought she had long forgotten. Words that had haunted her nightmares for years. The words a monster had told her once, making her believe that love could only be conjugated with the first-person singular, that the colour of love was red. The colour of passion, desire, blood, violence and death. A monster who asked her to open up for him, to let him in without giving her any choice. A monster who told her "I love you" the mouth full with her entrails.

When she arrived in the conference room, she had dried her tears and had redone her make-up. She was perfect, as usual. Lydia Martin would never let the monsters of her past affect her. It was a promise she made to herself. She could only count on her.

Soon enough her friends surrounded her with genuine smiles, taking her in their arms. She was where she wanted to be for years. She fought to be here. However, she felt more isolated than ever, as if she was in the heart of a dark alley, teetering on the edge of a precipice, facing a force ready to swallow her whole and crush her.

It was a long time since she last felt the warmth of a light in her life and all this dark matter threatened to collapse on her and create a black hole that would wipe her out.

She received the Field's Medal and then it happened: she smiled, a smile without any meaning, the leftovers of forgotten happiness, imprinted in her muscles but erased from her memory. That was it? The peak? She should have known. At a mountain peak there is no vegetation, no life, not enough oxygen. At a mountain peak, you are alone, isolated from a world you can only observe from above, from afar, without being able to take part and with no one at your side to admire it.

The day went by. She went from conference to conference, it helped her suppress her memories. She listened to people as smart as her talking about new theories, she gave her opinion and people listened to her.

The year she turned 7 was the year Maryam Mirzakhani died, the first woman who received the Field's Medal. Lydia had wanted to read everything about her and her researches. It wasn't long until Lydia made her one of her female rolemodel, next to Marie Curie. In school, she fell in love with Riemann surfaces and symplectic geometry. She wrote her first essay about it when she was 17. It wasn't perfect and a lot of professors rose up against this teenage girl who thought she could turn their research field upside down.

Today she felt important, revered among wise men, the only woman among an assembly of too many fifty years-old white men. She was proud of her, proud of her development... but this pride wasn't the warm light she expected. It felt more like the thin blanket that would leave you shivering during cold winter evenings. It wasn't enough to cover her, to warm up her delicate and tired body.

She shook hands for the umpteenth time with yet another professor whose gaze was set too far below her eye line, and that was when she decided to leave. The afternoon was slowly turning into the evening and she kept feeling the hole in her chest growing always bigger. She needed to get lost in the crowd that filled the bustling streets at this hour to clear her mind. She sometimes felt like some creature unable to create her own happiness, like she needed to feel, to absorb the other's happiness to finally feel this warmth inside of her.

She walked down the streets without knowing where her feet were taking her and went through the city-centre. She liked the places filled with tourists, those people who were just passing by, leaving behind them only smiles, joy and carefree laughter. She didn't know them but she liked to invent their lives, happy ones, the kinds of lives that could only exist in the sappiest romance movies. She craved this happiness. Her throat was raw after so many years waking up screaming or crying from her nightmares and she needed this honey to soothe her aches.

She quickly ducked into a cafe. She enjoyed the atmosphere these types of places had to offer the feeling of light-heartedness and joviality. People came in to rest, relax, or just sit around laughing and joking with friends; and if any conversations were met with hostility, all she had to do was look toward another table to see happiness and smiles.

With her hands above her steaming cup, she observed the other customers from her table at the back of the room. Jazz music, orange light and foreign languages all around calmed her. She could eventually feel this warmth she had been looking for the entire day.

Her eyes fell on one of the waiters, something in his face, in the way he moved reminded her of a distant memory. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, she had met so many strangers, had tried so many times to find a familiar face in the crowd that she no longer knew what or who she was looking for. She craved familiarity. She felt as if she was in front of a mirage without having the slightest idea about what could have created it.

Somebody called him but she couldn't hear his name. He went toward her, looking weary and tired, took off his apron and opened the "staff only" door next to her. The small bubble of warmth that had begun to grow inside of her exploded with the slam of the door, causing her a dull pain and making her feel a weight on her chest. She had felt tears in her eyes when her look had fallen inadvertently on the waiter's forearm on which she had spotted a tattoo. He moved too quickly for her to be sure but she could have sworn it resembled a bow and arrow. She left without even finishing her tea. Memories were too painful.

That night, Allison visited her dreams. Lydia never learnt how Allison died. A phone call woke her up in the middle of the night. Her best friend, the one she left behind in America was dead. _Murdered_ , said the man who called her. The image that followed was the one that haunted her dreams, tormenting her. Allison lying on the cold ground, moonlight paling her features against the dark red blood in her mouth, lifeless eyes fixated on the sky. Allison would beg Lydia to come back and Lydia would beg the universe to bring her best friend back, but their pleas were as useless as the bow and arrows lying at the hunter's feet.

Her scream and tears woke her up once again. In one month and three days, Allison would have been dead for ten years. For ten years Lydia had been living without any light in her life, she had been cold, for ten years she had been lonely. She never had the strength to visit her grave in France but right now, it felt important. She wasn't there ten years ago, she had to be there ten years later. She stood up, went slowly to her computer and bought tickets to France.

She recalled the man in the gutter who reminded her of the monster of her past. The one who had started everything. What would her life have been if she had never crossed his path?

She went out on her balcony, the wind made her shiver and the moon, not quite full, pushed back every shadow with its harsh light. Lydia tightened her robe around her small frame and rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up.

Her thoughts carried her away, far away, beyond the ocean, to the Californian sun and this warmth she had been incapable of feeling for so long. An allegory of grief, that's what she had become. As an answer to her thought, a cry rang out in the distance, a cry coming from the heart of the city, a wolf was howling, seeming to beg the moon to end its misery.

No one answered.

* * *

Since he left the cafe the day before, Stiles sensed that something had changed. He didn't know what exactly but the void inside of him was different, heavier, harder to withstand. He opened the cafe door, set the tables and turned the coffee machines on.

He had been doing this job for a few months and already considered quitting, the one he was looking for was obviously elsewhere. His searches had brought him to this town but his source had been wrong. There were no traces of Peter Hale. The unsolved murders were purely, and quite simply, human. Another psychopath who enjoyed biting teenage girls through the skin after assaulting them. They were found dead, left naked in ditches. Nothing supernatural about that. This thought made Stiles shiver... not all monsters had fangs and glowing red eyes. After spending all those years tracking down the supernatural and trying to keep it hidden from the eyes of ordinary humans, he had almost forgotten that evil didn't have any gender, colour or shape.

He had been following Peter Hale's trail for years now. Everything had begun with him, this disturbed being who assaulted teenagers. Scott, Lydia, Allison… He had disappeared overnight, leaving them all to face the consequences of his own actions, without explaining the rules of the game, without even asking them if they wanted to play.

He was in touch with a member of the Hale family who'd rather remain anonymous and wanted to see Peter dead. He gave him all the leads he had and to date, he had two.

One of them led him here, to London. After spending several months trying to infiltrate the police to follow the investigation, Stiles was able to confirm to his source that the body didn't have any biting nor scratching marks. He tracked down the man and could see by himself that he wasn't supernatural.

Stiles went through the cafe post and took the leaflets he had to pin on the wall. He looked vaguely at the first one which announced a conference. His eyes were drawn to a name, a name he thought he would never see or hear again. He felt his stomach fall and his guts twist, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe: _Lydia Martin, Field's Medal recipient_.

Everything he had tried to suppress for all those years came rushing back to the surface. It was sweet and brutal all at once. A teenager: naïve about love, full of hope and awe; but then there were flashes of blood, terror, death, and guilt.

Beads of sweat stood out on his brow, _breathe, calm down_. He looked at his forearm and at the Japanese kanji and the arrow: his reality, his identity, his sense of self. He counted his fingers, closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. When he opened his eyes again, his breath was less halting and his features had hardened. He crumpled the leaflet into a ball and threw it away. Things you don't know can't hurt you… right?

But the thought was ingrained in his brain and the seed had germinated. _She_ was there, in the same city as him. He couldn't see her again, he shouldn't… He tried the entire day to reason with his heart that was pounding faster every time someone would open the door. Tomorrow… Tomorrow he will give his notice and follow the new lead he had received.

Night came and he couldn't sleep, which hadn't happened to him in years, since he left actually. Usually, when he had trouble falling asleep, he would start another _Star Wars_ marathon. He knew all the dialogues by heart but every time, he felt the same excitement he felt when he watched it for the first time. For hours he was in a galaxy far far away…

But he stopped after twenty minutes of _A New Hope_ , he needed to know.

He looked for her on the internet and discovered she arrived just a few years before him in Europe.

He fell asleep at 5 AM on his computer and dreamed about California, high school, about a world without guilt, without this weight on his shoulders. A light and warm world where the girl of his dreams, the love of his life didn't have to suffer. A world where Scott, his best friend... his _brother..._ didn't have to go through hell after his soulmate, Allison, took her dying breath in his arms as he watched... powerless to do anything. A world where his father would still be alive. A world where he was able to save the ones he loved, sparing them grief. A world where he would still be like the other humans, blessed with the ignorance of all the supernatural shadows daily hanging above them, above their happiness. A dream. A mirage vanishing the second he opened his eyes.

He sent his resignation letter the very same morning and took off, trying to suppress the ache nagging him at the idea that Lydia was somewhere, in one of those buildings and that he would leave without seeing her. He couldn't help wondering what she had become. He hoped she was happy, she had turned over a new leaf.

While waiting for the bus, he couldn't stop the smile creeping on his lips. She made it, she won the Field's Medal… He never doubted it, never doubted her…


	3. Allison sonne, sonne

**A/N: Hi everyone! Here is the third chapter and I'll try to update once a week. Just so you know, that fic should have 20 chapters and I already wrote the 14 firsts because I started posted it on AO3 some months ago. So, you're safe for at least 14 weeks :) This fic is really important to me, so be sure that I'll finish it, I love Stiles and Lydia too much to not give it a proper ending.**

 **Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think about it!**

 **xx**

A few weeks had passed since Stiles first arrived in France. His second lead had brought him deep in the Lozère, a region in the south of the country with green and undulating landscapes. He would sometimes catch sight of the dazzling view of a sheer cliff overhanging a turquoise river. This idyllic colour was the result of the combined reflection of the trees and the clear blue sky.

But Stiles knew better. He had come here once and knew that this region was everything but heaven on earth. Landscapes were sometimes arid and devoid of shadow, the sun could turn the soil yellow, drying it up until only fissures remained, killing every life form in its wake. That's where the Argents had acquired their reputation when they had rid the country of _la Bête du Gévaudan_. That's where they lived for centuries from the cradle to the grave, and that's where Allison Argent was buried for all eternity.

Everything was slowly coming back to him: the solitary road he was currently driving, the names, the scents... everything. The sun was barely rising in the sky, but he was already dripping with sweat. The heat was such that the morning dew kept evaporating, making the air that filtered through his opened window hot and humid. Despite the open horizon in front of him, he was already suffocating.

He didn't really know where he was going, he just needed to have a break from everything... clear his mind after having spent yet another sleepless night chasing a ghost, another wrong track.

The matter at hand involved two rival gangs and several men ending up in the ER with serious injuries and bite marks. According to his source, Peter could have been a gang leader. Stiles managed to get a meeting organized between the two, making them believe that the other was ready to surrender. He wanted to witness the meeting, hidden in a dark corner, but could only see one of the men. The other had stayed in his car and had taken off after probably understanding that it was a trap. Stiles had followed him the entire night but eventually had to face the cold truth: this wasn't Peter.

Chasing this man had exhausted him and yet, he had struggled to find sleep. He had walked out of the hotel, down the streets, climbed into his car, and began to drive with the sole purpose of leaving.

A lump grew in his throat when he understood where his ride was taking him: right into the little village of Marvejols, former capital of Gévaudan and Allison Argent's final resting place.

He parked his car outside of the village and started to pick flowers: poppies, wild irises, daisies and cypress branches. The entire village was quiet, still asleep. The only sound was coming from his steps echoing in the narrow street as he climbed up to the cemetery. The bouquet in his hands and his eyes already wet from tears, he kept walking, his thought all devoted to the one who never should have died.

* * *

She was in front of the cemetery, a bouquet of white everlasting flowers gripped in her shaky hands. The morning breeze was already stifling and the cicada had begun their concert, building a striking contrast between the dawning nature and the cemetery.

She opened the rusty gate and wandered a little while before she eventually found Allison's grave. Without knowing why, it wrung her heart to see that someone must have regularly cleaned the stone and rearranged the flowers. Taking care of it, of _her_.

On the gravestone, Allison's name was surmounted by the silhouette of a woman bending a bow with an arrow toward a howling wolf. Underneath it was an inscription saying _Beloved daughter, gone too soon, guardian of the weak and light in the darkness, may you find a world in peace._ Someone had added a slab with what looked like a motto: _We protect those who can't protect themselves_.

Lydia suddenly had an unpleasant feeling. She realized that she may have only known a small part of her best friend's life. The thought that maybe something even more tragic than what she had imagined could have happened to Allison brought tears to her green eyes.

She kneeled in front of the gravestone and laid her bouquet on it. She was clueless about what to do. Was she supposed to say something? Should she? She felt a little silly and almost took off but her feet were stuck in front of the cold marble.

With a choked and faltering voice, she began to talk.

"I brought you flowers. I had no idea what kind of flowers to bring so I had to ask to a florist. Apparently everlasting flowers are cemetery flowers."

She choked on the word _cemetery_ and had to suppress a sob before resuming.

"They _are_ pretty…" she said, her eyes lost in a distant memory, "They suit you. But then again, I don't know which flowers are your favourites… I don't know anything about flowers actually… Something made me think about you and I came here. On an impulse, truth be told. I should have come sooner, I'm sorry. I guess I never had the strength, but I should have come… I miss you so much. Nobody has ever replaced you in my life. I wish you could know how much I thought about you, how many times I wished you were here. Ever since I heard about your death it has been hard, really hard. For months I kept wanting to call you to tell you about my day or just to stay hours on the phone talking about one thing and another. I used to call your number just to hear your voice telling me to talk after the _beep_. Until your number got allocated to someone else…"

She had started and couldn't stop talking. She talked to her about this void that had settled in her gut despite her success, about this ache that seemed to refuse to go away and sent her ever closer to a precipice, about this dark veil surrounding the huntress's death (a veil she desperately wanted to tear up), and about her regret for not being there as she took her last dying breath.

Lydia only realized that someone was in front of the grave next to her when she had managed to calm her tears.

Stiles had followed the sound of sobbing. He didn't have to see the face of the woman behind the tears to recognize her: Lydia was at Allison's grave.

He was frozen and didn't dare to move. He figured it was wiser to leave her on her own but realized that his feet were listening to another logic and had brought him closer to her. He was in front of the grave of a certain Madeleine Dubois and next to a Lydia who was even more beautiful than what he remembered.

He was staring in awe. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it. After so many years he was still struck by her beauty. Stiles only seemed to remember how to use words when her gaze met his eyes.

" _Vous voulez un tissu?_ "

He cursed himself for asking such a dumb question, did she want a tissue? _What a great idea Stiles!_ She frowned and he figured that he must have said it wrong.

" _Un_ _mouchoir_ , you mean? Because you know, _tissu_ doesn't mean _tissue,_ it means _fabric_ , _mouchoir_ means _tissue_. Are you American?"

He was staring again, struck by her intelligence this time. That was his Lydia, his perfect and genius Lydia.

"Yeah, sorry…"

He laid his bouquet on the grave in front of him and gave her a tissue with shaky hands without waiting for an answer. She took it and dried her last tears, doing her best to hide her tear-stained face. Without knowing why, she started to stare at him, there was something with him that soothed her, something like familiarity.

"I'm sorry for your loss." She told him after looking at the gravestone. This Madeleine had only died a few weeks ago.

"Oh… thanks."

She was still looking at him. Lydia knew she shouldn't wait for this conversation to go on, this man was obviously grieving. But she just couldn't stop staring.

Stiles felt anxiety rising. Was he supposed to talk? He glanced quickly at the gravestone in front of him and figured he could maybe find a way to talk to her.

"My sister died in a car crash. It still feels like it was yesterday…" He stopped a few seconds, looking at her and wondering if he had made a mistake. "I'm sorry… I don't want to bother you with that."

"You're not. Allison died ten years ago and It still feels like it was yesterday too. I was so far away when it happened. If I had been there, maybe… Maybe I could have done something." Her voice faltered at the end of her sentence and she let out a sob.

"That's what I keep telling myself too," he said in a whisper.

It had seemed to relax him and he started to talk. The fact that Lydia had no idea about who he was or that he was talking about Allison was helping him. He could say whatever he wanted, while simultaneously lightening the burden he was carrying.

"We were really close, we went through so many things, we've had so many difficult times together. She died in the arms of my best friend. I know she meant the world to him… And it was all my fault."

He was staring at the unknown name on the gravestone in front of him and felt tears in his eyes.

"She was so brave. I deprived a father of a daughter he adored. She was everything he had left. I deprived the world of a bold warrior, always willing to help anyone. She was beautiful, she had such a positive energy…" He was half lost in his memories, smiling sadly.

"When she smiled, she made everything look easier. She had the power to give us hope and the power to make people believe in themselves. Even when it all seemed to be lost. She died because she refused to let anyone get in the way of our right to life and happiness. I'm trying to follow her legacy, to find the one who took so much from us and make him pay. I'm just… I'm trying. It's all I can do."

The tears were rolling freely down his cheeks and he eventually sat cross-legged in front of the grave, still staring at the unknown name.

Silence fell on them. Lydia was paralyzed, she didn't know what to do. She'd never dare hug him and knew she couldn't leave. So, she began to talk.

"I wish I could go back in time. Go back ten years ago and never move away. If I could have gathered the strength, I could have made a difference, fixed things. Allison was the first and last person who really mattered in my life. The time we spent together was not so long but it's as if I had waited my entire life to meet her, I was ready. Ever since she died there's been a void inside of me, it's taking up so much space…"

She was struggling to find the right words, and it was driving her insane. She always spoke with assurance and accurate words and she was reduced to banalities. There was no word that could be as meaningful as Allison.

In the distance, people were coming closer to them. A young boy ran toward them and stopped in his tracks next to the stranger.

Stiles saw them and figured they might be Madeleine Dubois's family. Panic and anxiety rose again. He wanted so badly to keep talking to Lydia but couldn't risk betraying himself if this boy or someone else asked him if he knew this Madeleine.

"I have to go."

He was in a rush but managed somehow to keep his voice steady. He stood up and hesitated for a second before turning around to look at Lydia.

"Leaving was the right decision, it wouldn't have changed anything if you had stayed. Your life is far too precious."

Lydia was taken aback and watched him run away as the family came closer, halting in front of Madeleine's grave. She repeated in her head the stranger's enigmatic words over again and looked at him one last time. He had made a halt to watch her, running his hand nervously through his hair. Lydia began to stand up, but he left straight away.

She stayed a little while longer and was making her way toward the exit when she noticed something shiny on the ground. She took it and felt her heart stop for a moment.

It was a key chain.

A _Beacon Hills High_ key chain, her high school in California.

She wondered if it could be hers but knew very well that she had thrown away everything that could remind her of Beacon Hills.

Her mind was still with Allison and she put it in her pocket. She was nearing the cemetery gate and could hear the litanies the Dubois family were singing to Madeleine. She paused for a moment to hear them. She loved to hear those songs in French, its melody was fitting the sadness of the words.

Completely lost in the beauty of the voices, she suddenly realized something that pulled her brutally out of her reverie. Why was Madeleine's brother unable to speak proper French? Why did he run away when he saw the family approaching? Something was off. Could he have lied to her? But why?

She froze when she felt the cold key chain under her fingers in her pocket. It wasn't hers, it couldn't be. She had found it on a path she hadn't taken when she had come in.

Could it be possible that the American was in high school with her and wanted to see Allison's grave? In that case, why didn't he say anything? If he wasn't Madeleine's brother, who was he talking about? Allison? It seemed that he knew the person he was talking about and yet, Lydia didn't recall him.

The same questions were rushing in her mind. The key chain wasn't hers, that was a certainty and it hadn't stayed on the ground long since there was no dirt on it. The famous Sherlock Holmes axiom was echoing in her mind _When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth_.

She sat on a bench, she couldn't figure this thing out and intended on solving it. This mystery couldn't hide its truth from her.

Lydia knew how her brain worked and knew that she wouldn't be able to think about something else as long as she hadn't got to the bottom of it.

When she was a kid, she once spent days trying to figure out a magic trick. When she finally understood on her own how the magician had done it, she was so proud that she invented her own version of the trick. Later, impossible equations kept her awake at night. She once had to learn Turkish in a few weeks to be able to read an important paper, whose English translation was raising more problems than it answered questions.

That's why she took a room in a hotel facing the cemetery. She stayed the entire day looking through the window. If her hypothesis was correct, the stranger would come back since he didn't really get to spend time at Allison's grave.

The day went by, but she hadn't seen anyone. She hushed the little voice in her head that mocked her, calling her crazy. She eventually went to bed to get some sleep.

She went back to Allison's grave the following day at the same time and saw the young man kneeling in front of it. She hesitated for a second, took her courage in both hands and came closer to him.

"Are you Madeleine Dubois's brother?"

"Wh…" he turned slowly around and understood when he laid his eyes on her. "Oh…"

"You don't have a sister whose name is Madeleine Dubois, have you?"

"How did you…"

"You dropped this." She cut him off, giving him the key chain back which he took without saying anything. "We know each other, don't we? Were you talking about Allison yesterday?"

"Yeah… I'm not sure if we know each other. I mean, I know you but…"

She remained silent so he resumed talking.

"I'm Stiles. Scott's best friend."

At this name, she opened her eyes wide and sat on the gravestone next to him.

"Scott? Yes, I remember! Allison smiled whenever someone said his name… They were dating, right? And my former boyfriend ground his teeth every time he ran into him…"

She gave a nervous laugh at those memories and continued.

"You were his hyperactive friend who never left his side, right?"

"Well… yes…"

He smiled shyly and they began to talk, remembering high school and Allison. Lydia couldn't quite understand why they didn't have _this_ conversation yesterday, instead of the one they had. She recalled something he had said, something about being responsible for Allison's death. She remained on her guard, knowing that curiosity would eventually win over when she would ask him the question stuck in the back of her mind.

Stiles, for his part, tried to not say too much. During high school, he had tried his best to protect her from this world, to make her stay away. Like most of his plans, it failed, given that Peter had attacked her. But there was a part of him that still hoped that she was able to move on without ever seeing the other side of the picture.

Deep in his thought, he hadn't noticed that she had stopped talking and was staring at him. She seemed to be reluctant to ask him something. He encouraged her with a small nod and she opened her mouth, looking for the right words.

"Yesterday, you said she died because of you."

This wasn't a question. It was a statement and it took Stiles a little by surprise. He had to be careful.

"Well… More like if I hadn't done something, the person who killed her wouldn't have…"

He didn't finish his sentence, looking at her, hoping she would get what he was failing to say. She stared at him in silence, feeling an old anger rising again inside of her. It was the same anger she had felt when nobody wanted to explain what exactly had happened to Allison. The same she had felt when she had been attacked. There was something else, she could have sworn there was something nobody was telling her. Something her Cartesian mind couldn't determine.

"Look, I'm sick of being handled like a fragile doll, nobody has ever bothered to tell me the truth!"

She stood up and paced behind Stiles who kept his head down.

In her voice, Stiles could sense a rage, a fury that was intimidating him but at the same time, the feeling of helplessness showing at the end of her sentences made him want to take her in his arms and never let the world hurt her again.

Lydia couldn't help it; her voice was getting louder and louder. If she let herself go, she knew she would have screamed until her throat turned raw.

"I know there is something else but I don't know what! How can a teenager get murdered? What does it have to do with you? And what do those messages on her gravestone mean? Hmm? And why, why do you all keep refusing to tell me anything?"

She was staring at him now but no answer came, he wouldn't even look at her. She continued talking, telling him about this policeman who thought she was just some crazy teen. _Crazy_. This word had come up so many times after that. All the doctors and psychologists she had seen called her that, (in a more nuanced way of course) but it all came down to that: she was crazy. However, she knew what she had seen, the red eyes and the man's fangs were still well engraved in her memory.

She sat down again while saying those last words, hiding her face in her hands to prevent Stiles from seeing her wet eyes.

That's what Stiles had always feared. He was in agony. He understood that everything he had done, thinking he was protecting her, had actually had the opposite effect. She was choking because what she lived didn't make any sense to her.

"No, it has nothing to do with crazy."

He was now looking at her, distraught with pain, witnessing the distress in her eyes.

"Explain it to me then if you know something!"

Her anger had been replaced with weariness. Stiles felt a pang of sadness and reached toward her to take her hands to comfort her but he paused at the last moment. He wanted so badly to tell her everything, explain it all to her in order to help her find answers to her questions. But he knew very well how traumatic it could be for someone to learn that the world was actually ruled by supernatural laws and that the monsters that used to live only in our nightmares were walking the earth.

"Lydia, I'm not sure if I can tell you everything."

He spoke very slowly without daring to look at her, knowing exactly that what he would find in her eyes would break his heart.

He heard her laughing faintly and closed his eyes.

"And why is that?"

"It's more complicated than it seems. We often fought about this with Allison, and we never agreed."

Lydia froze. Of course, Allison had other friends beside her, but realizing that she had secrets with someone else, secrets involving her… It felt as if someone was crushing her entire chest, she couldn't breathe.

"About what?" She let out in a weak murmur.

"About what was happening."

The guilt that had settled in Stiles chest was so strong that his words kept getting slower, weaker.

At those words, Lydia shivered.

"Allison knew?"

"That's not what you think. We weren't trying to hide the truth from you, we were trying to protect you. If you had known the truth about your attack…"

Lydia felt her blood turn cold and cut him off.

"The truth about my attack? So, there is a truth? And you knew it?"

Stiles was looking at the ground again and nodded slightly. He was chewing on his lips so strong that it wouldn't have surprised him if he ended up finding the taste of blood in his mouth. He wished so badly that meeting Lydia after so many years would have turned out differently.

Lydia resumed, her tone now icy.

"What kind of truth?"

He didn't answer, fearing the panic attack that was soon to be expected. Lydia repeated her question with a much more aggressive tone.

"Which kind of truth, Stiles?"

He eventually raised his head but couldn't come up with anything to say. His mind, always rambling about anything, was remaining blank. The only thing echoing in his brain was the beating of his heart, too quick and too strong.

"Stiles!"

"You're not crazy, okay? Everything you remember… That's the truth. He's a monster. A literal one."

She didn't say anything; he was crushed by her silence.

Stiles tried to examine her eyes, looking for an emotion or a reaction but she seemed lost in her thought. Without saying anything, she stood up and began to walk away.

"Lydia? Wait! Trust me, it was to protect you!"

She stopped and answered him without turning around. Her voice was shaking with so much anger that Stiles had to stay back after standing up.

"Protect me? From what? Since when has ignorance been better than knowledge?"

She started to walk again and Stiles followed her. He tried to catch her sleeve but she avoided him.

"Lydia, wait, I'm begging you…"

He was dying. She was right. _Of course,_ she was right. He blamed himself for so much.

"Lydia, please, let me explain…"

"No!"

She had finally stopped and turned around but Stiles would have rather talked to her without seeing her eyes. They were piercing straight through his skull, imbued with so much sadness and fury that he gave out a gasp and instinctively stepped back.

"No, you don't get to explain yourself Stiles! Do you realize everything I had to go through? Don't you think that at some point, it would have been okay to tell me that there was an explanation for my nightmares, for my psychosis? The worst… The worst part is that I blame Allison too now. She was the only good thing in my memories, the only one to comfort me. And you took her away from me!"

She was still boiling with anger but mentioning Allison filled her with such an incredible sadness that she had to stop. She didn't want to hear what Stiles wanted to say but her strength was failing her, she could neither run away nor resume this argument, she needed to be alone.

Stiles felt it and went on with the most neutral tone he could master.

"Look, meet me at 5PM in the village square. We'll talk, you'll ask me all the questions you want or shout at me as much as you want… I'll be there… come… or don't. You're free, you always have been."

He walked away, glancing one last time at Allison's grave, leaving Lydia alone in the cemetery. She stayed motionless for a while, frozen, not knowing what to do or what to think.

She eventually sat on Allison's gravestone and stayed there until the church bells rang out twelve times. She listened to this sound, letting her sink into its depth with her eyes closed.

The bell rings out… _La cloche_ _sonne_ , in French. _Sonne_ … A word that sounded like the sun and like Allison.

She opened her eyes, looked at the sky, her back against the grave stone.

"Why, Allison, why?" was all she could whisper to the light breeze.

Another church rang out its bells twelve times. _Allison, sonne, sonne_ …

The sun made her eyes hurt so she closed them again.

 _Allison, sonne, sonne_ …


	4. Erinyes awakening

Lydia spent the afternoon walking, weighing her options, going over the two conversations she had with Stiles again. The anger was still boiling inside of her but she had questions. Lydia was a woman of science and she needed to have all the data before she could reach a conclusion.

Meeting Stiles was therefore an obligation; she owed it at least to herself.

She was afraid of what she could discover. Stiles had in his hands the missing piece of the puzzle she had been trying to recreate for years and she had the feeling that this little piece could change the entire picture.

And yet, there was this little voice in her head. Telling her tirelessly that she already knew what this picture looked like.

* * *

At 5PM Lydia was approaching the village square and saw that Stiles was already there. He was pacing and glancing at his watch almost every second while running his other hand nervously through his hair.

When his eyes eventually fell on her, he froze. He wanted to smile at her but there was something in the way she looked at him (in the way she _glared_ at him) that intimidated him.

They sat at a table outside a cafe; Stiles ordered a coffee and Lydia a mint syrup.

"What kind of monster?" she asked after a long silence with no forewarning.

Stiles wasn't sure what to do and hesitated a long moment. He knew she needed to know the truth but this question was forcing him to go straight to the point, leaving him no chance to make things look easier to accept.

"Look, I need to explain some things first."

"No, just answer me."

Stiles swallowed slowly, incapable of looking away from her eyes. He understood that he wouldn't have any other choice but to answer her questions. One after the other. He surrendered and answered with the same attitude.

"A werewolf. His name is Peter Hale."

"A werewolf?"

She flinched slightly but collected herself immediately, adding the idea that werewolves existed to her life paradigm. He nodded and she continued.

"How is that possible?"

"I guess… I don't really know… All I know is that they are real and some, like Peter, were born werewolf and others are turned with a bite."

"I _have_ been bitten."

"Yeah but nothing happened to you after that, we kept watch on you for a while."

"How come nothing happened?"

"We never found out."

"So, it didn't have any effect?"

"I don't know."

"I thought the point of this meeting was for you to answer my questions..."

She was slowly getting fed up with it. She was ready to acknowledge the existence of the supernatural but not without answers and Stiles was more than disappointing.

"Yes! I can explain everything: what happened, the unexplained disappearance and deaths, Allison… but there are so many things I still don't know!"

She was unsure what to answer. Stiles was clearly nervous and she was wondering if he could feel as lost as she was.

"Very well. Tell me what happened to Allison then."

He took a deep breath and began to tell her a story that kept sending shivers down her spine. Every single detail echoed something in her somehow. She had the feeling she was listening to the summary of a movie she watched while falling asleep.

When Stiles explained to her that she had been manipulated by Peter Hale to help him come back to life, she saw herself years ago waking up with bare feet, in her pajamas, and in the middle of nowhere.

When he explained that he, Scott and Allison were too late to save his own father; she remembered the feeling she once had in class. She was drowning and couldn't stop from crying the entire day.

When he explained that something evil took control over him, committing murders with his own hands and face, she remembered feeling continually disorientated for weeks. Feeling like nothing was real, like she couldn't tell her dreams and nightmares from the reality.

When he told her how Allison died, she recalled screaming with all of her strength in the street and recalled the pain she had felt in her stomach. Like she had been stabbed.

It was Lydia's turn to swallow with difficulty. She had slowly turned pale.

"Does everything have something to do with Peter?" She had asked this question without knowing why, as if it was a certainty for her that the monster from her nightmares, this Peter Hale, was responsible for everything.

"Yeah, that's what I found out."

"And Scott? What did he have to do with it?"

"He was the first Peter bit. That's what turned him."

She remained silent for a little while and tried to hide the confusion in her mind.

"When did you leave?" She finally asked.

"When I was 18, a few years after Allison's death."

"What made you leave?"

"I couldn't afford college and I blamed myself for everything. My father's death, your attack, Allison's death and even Scott's bite. If I hadn't dragged him into the woods that night, nothing would have happened. I wanted to come here, say goodbye to Allison and find Peter to avenge everyone."

Lydia didn't reply.

Anxiety was rising in Stiles: he had sworn to himself to tell the truth, to be sincere, to tell her everything and to lower his protections to let her in. She had to know everything he knew. But dwelling on all of that was painful and he felt as if he was in front of the Lydia he knew in high school, the one who would have died instead of letting her emotions show, the _cold-hearted queen_ as the gossipers used to call her.

But Stiles knew. He knew that she was so much more than that, so much more than the mask she was currently wearing and it was slowly killing him to see her like that.

"What is that? I saw it somewhere."

She had seen his tattoo and caught his forearm.

"Where?"

"A few weeks ago, in a cafe. I thought it was an arrow and it made me think about Allison. That's what brought me here."

"You were in my cafe?"

He couldn't believe it, she had been there and he hadn't seen her?

"What is it?"

She had knowingly evaded the question. Speaking about her life to someone who had just turned her life and view of things upside down was out of the question.

"It's Japanese, it means _self._ It reminds me that I'm myself… If that makes sense… Sometimes I wake up and I don't know if it's real or if I'm hallucinating. It helps me concentrate. And the arrow is Allison. I always admired her courage and devotion. I want to make her death… I don't want her to be dead for nothing. She died for me, to save me."

He was struggling to find words, struggling against sobs that seemed to seek for an escape.

"I want to live for her and kill the monster who stole our lives."

He had said this last sentence in a more confident tone. His voice was devoid of tears but filled with a controlled anger. Lydia let the silence stretch a little longer and tried to read in his eyes where this sudden confidence could have come from.

She resumed with a shaky voice.

"Did I really resurrect this monster?"

Stiles nodded faintly without daring to meet her gaze. She slowly turned her eyes away.

"I don't remember anything. When my mother had wanted to move out of the country at the end of sophomore year, I knew it had something to do with my attack but I didn't know what exactly. Did she know about that?"

"No, I don't think so."

They remained quiet for a while and Lydia broke the silence to say something she never told anyone, fearing to hear the word _crazy_ again.

"I felt Allison's death…"

It had been more a whisper and Stiles had to come closer to hear her. Lydia had a fixed stare, it looked like she wasn't gazing at anything in peculiar; she was lost in her memory.

"I was coming back home, walking down the street when I felt a lump in my throat. I screamed Allison's name without knowing why. I had never screamed so loud… It felt like someone had stabbed me…"

Stiles nodded and said something but Lydia wasn't listening.

She wanted to cry, to give way to her emotions but she couldn't. She was wondering what made her confide in this stranger, she didn't trust him yet and her anger was still there. But she felt that it helped her feel better so, she continued.

"And there is this nightmare. I don't know how many times I had it. I stopped counting… I'm in a maze or something like that…"

She was speaking faster; her breath was halting as if she was living what she was telling him.

"I want to go out. I'm looking for the way out and I see a light. I'm heading for it but the daylight turns into two big red dots… I run in the opposite direction, I jump over empty spaces, walls, I rush down stairs after stairs. I want to stop but I can't… He could catch me if I did… I don't know what he is, what _it_ is. It sometimes looks like a wolf, sometimes like a man with sharp teeth… When he catches me, he empties me; I don't know how to explain it…"

She seemed to slowly break herself out of her trance and realised that Stiles had took her hands in his. She wanted to take her hands back and shout at him but saw blood on her fingers. She had hurt them against the splinters of the wooden table she was scratching and Stiles had to make her stop.

A light bubble of warmth seemed to suddenly chase away the void she had started to feel.

"It's stupid, isn't it?" she asked, faking a laugh.

"No, not really, no."

His gaze was so soft that she couldn't help but relax her face.

He wanted to rid her of her fears, he knew first hand that nightmares could feel as tangible as reality.

They stayed like that for a little while, wrapped in a comfortable silence. Lydia could feel some of the weight on her shoulder vanish and missed the contact with his hands as soon as he moved them away.

"Why didn't you tell me anything in high school? You all knew what was going on and decided that I didn't deserve to know?"

"No, it wasn't like that, I swear… I genuinely believed I was protecting you. If it makes you feel any better... Allison, Scott, and I...we disagreed a lot on that. Allison wanted to tell you about all of it, but I-" He sighed. "I kept telling her that if you didn't know, you'd be safe. Knowing...it ruined the lives of everyone involved."

She tried to laugh to emphasize the irony of it but her laugh got caught in her throat.

"I can't say that not knowing has improved my life…"

"I'm sorry… I truly believed I was helping."

"You should have listened to Allison."

"Yeah… I realize that now," he said with a sad smile, "You're right. Of course, you're right. You've always been the smartest of us."

He lost himself in a distant memory and Lydia was left wondering.

"What do you mean?"

Stiles let out an embarrassed laugh. His point wasn't to confess to the obsessional love he had felt for her, to the caring attention he had always had toward her. When he was 15, he knew all about the way she kept hiding herself, about how she kept lowering her intelligence to remain within the norm.

"I always knew you would win a Nobel prize or something amazing like that. You always had the answer in class but never raised your hand. I could hear you whisper every answer. I never sat too far away from you…" he said smiling, slightly embarrassed about this confession. "And I know you sometimes invented theorems to solve equations. Ms. Flemming used to get so pissed when you did that…"

They both quietly laughed at that memory.

"I would love to tell her that I ended up proving some of those theorems a few years ago!"

Lydia caught herself joining in the conversation. The mere mention of her passion had been enough to lighten her mood and she knew that a treacherous smile was slowly creeping on her lips. She could read relief in Stiles's eyes.

"I have no doubt about that."

They talked a long time about her research. Stiles didn't understand anything but kept asking her questions; she was talking with such passion that it was like being in seventh heaven for him to see her like that. He listened in awe, not wanting her to stop.

But after a while, she paused and her smile vanished.

"If I hadn't been this concerned about my reputation… Maybe we would have met sooner. And maybe…"

"No, Lydia." He had cut her off. He knew exactly what she was doing: she was going to blame herself, leading them to talk about Allison and he wanted to keep that gorgeous smile on her lips at any cost. "It wouldn't have changed anything, okay? If Peter wasn't the psychotic narcissist he is, always on the prowl for blood and power, it would have changed everything. But you had to be you. None of this is your fault."

Stiles instinctively took her hands again, drawing comforting circles with his thumbs on her fingers and keeping his voice as soft as possible. She was overcome with calm and smiled shyly, her lips pressed tightly together and her emerald green eyes filled with gratitude. He realized what he was doing and dropped her hands as fast as if he had come too close to a flame.

Lydia repressed a laugh when she saw his cheeks turning red. Anger seemed to progressively evaporate and she blamed herself for being resentful of Allison. She made the silent promise to apologise to her friend before leaving.

The afternoon was gradually turning into early evening and the air was breathable again, less humid. The sun was bathing the streets in warm orange colours. Linen was hanging in the windows, adding to the dry surrounding air nice smells of detergent and awaking memories of home and childhood. Kids were playing outside, filling the streets with their laughs.

The atmosphere was nothing but happiness, summer and vacations. It contrasted brutally with the heaviness of their conversation and the weight in their eyes.

Time went by; they kept talking.

Lydia kept asking questions to know precisely what kind of supernatural creatures crossed their paths through the years, trying to understand how it was scientifically possible. She also tried to make out the event's chronology to find a meaning behind everything she had been through. Completing the puzzle was filling her with happiness. As unbelievable as it seemed, it made sense to her.

One question remained however. Why had she been aware of everything that happened while being on another continent? Stiles didn't have any answer and it tormented her maybe even more than figuring out the werewolf metabolism.

Soon enough, their empty stomachs started to growl. They decided to stay for dinner but nervously laughed when the waiter brought them the menus: everything was written in the local dialect and nothing looked familiar.

Lydia tried to ask the waiter for guidance but he pretended to not understand what she was saying. Which made Stiles boil with anger given that he was sure she could speak better French than this asshole. They tried to google the names but couldn't find any signal.

Lydia was ready to surrender and leave when Stiles had the most ridiculous idea and suggested they could choose the dishes that sounded more appetizing.

She was hard to convince but eventually gave up for the sake of her stomach.

"What?" She asked after pronouncing every dish on the menu.

"Nothing..." Stiles closed his mouth and tried to stop staring at her. "It's just... Everything sounds tasty in your mouth... I mean pronounced like that..."

Lydia blinked, not knowing how to reply to that. Was he flirting with her? She had no time to think about a biting remark because the waiter came back and they had to make a choice.

When he brought them what their ordered, Stiles raised an interrogatory eyebrow to Lydia who was trying to conceal a laugh behind her hand. She had something with what looked like pork and beef feet. Stiles's plate on the other hand had a terrible smell. He learned afterwards that is was mutton tripe. As it turned out, red wine made both dishes perfectly acceptable. They drank one bottle between the two of them and ordered another one.

Lydia felt wonderful. She didn't know if the warmth she was feeling could be attributed to the wine or to happiness but if she was being honest, she didn't care. The main thing was: she was euphoric.

"Okay, new question… What did you see the last time you went to the movies?"

"I don't really go to the movies."

Stiles was staring at her, mouth agape.

"Never?"

"Well, sometimes… But I realized that I didn't really like that, that I was going because that's what people expect from you and not because I enjoyed it. So, I tend not to go if I can help it."

Stiles (an incredulous expression printed on his face) still hadn't closed his mouth. Lydia tried to close his jaw from her fingertip and laughed. It seemed to shake him out of his lethargy.

"But why? What do you do then?"

"I read. I like to read. You have the time to truly understand, you think, you play with your imagination. With a movie, you have to see things with the director's eyes and I hate when people try to impose things on me."

She took another sip of wine a small smile on her lips without breaking eye contact with a dazed Stiles.

"And you?" she resumed, "What kind of movies do you like?"

"Star Wars!"

The lack of hesitation and his rush made her smile even more. "Oh really?"

She raised an eyebrow, faking a surprised look but then, she stared at him wide-eyed suddenly realizing something.

"Wait a minute… Were you the one who kept leaving drawings of Han and a redhead Leia in my locker? With sentences like _Be the Leia to my Han for prom_?"

"God no…" he answered frowning, "I had a different style. I would rather join the Lacrosse team to get your attention you know… And I would never draw you as a redhead!"

"You were on the Lacrosse team?" She asked while trying to hide her smile behind her napkin.

"Oh yeah totally! You never saw me? I was so good though at like… cheering, warming the bench, giving water to the other players… all that stuff you know!"

He was smirking and Lydia couldn't help but laugh. They were wrapped in a comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth settling around them.

Lydia eventually broke the silence.

"Why Star Wars?"

"I don't really know… I've always loved it. It's not just another science fiction saga with heroes and adventures. Well… there are heroes and adventures, but it's way more than that. They all fight for what they believe is good, even Darth Vador. But at the same time, they make mistakes, they were all damaged in some way. Their choices made them who they are, even the bad ones. It's a tragedy, a story about politics, choices and vengeance. I'm sure someone wiser than me would find a philosophy of life with it."

He stopped, beside himself with passion and stared at Lydia whose gaze was fixated on him.

"Wait, don't tell me you never watched the movies…" he said frowning.

"Oh no, I did! It's just… I've heard about those people who lived, dreamed, breathed Star Wars but I've always thought it was more like a myth." She paused, smirking. "But I get it… You could almost convince me to watch them with you…"

She was now smiling and biting her lower lip, slightly titling her head and Stiles was speechless. He was thrown by this flirty version of Lydia. _Wait a minute, was she flirting with him?_ He couldn't get rid of the vision of her small frame snuggled up against his side under a warm blanket with popcorn and the music of the opening credits in the background.

He suddenly became conscious of the flush on his cheeks and tried to stare at anything that wasn't her burning green gaze or the showing lace at her blouse's cleavage.

They kept talking for a long while. Lydia tried to explain some mathematical theories, talked about physics and philosophy while Stiles asked questions and realized that her knowledge had no boundaries. He was clever but the wine wasn't helping so Lydia used several napkins to draw diagrams. Stiles didn't know it was even possible to worship her more than he already did.

Their hands kept brushing when they would grab at the same time their glass or the bottle, sending a rush of blood and electricity down their entire bodies. Sometimes, the brush would linger a little too long. His thumb would stroke her palm or she would slightly intertwine their fingertips but they would quickly take their hands away after a few seconds.

Happiness could be read on their faces, heard in the clear notes of their laughs. As if the entire day and the day before hadn't existed, as if their past were blank pages that they could fill with whatever they wanted.

But the spell broke when the waiter came to tell them that his shift was coming to an end and that they needed to pay. They paid, stood up and started to walk away, leaving their smiles behind them to wear the masks that had been hardening their faces for so many years.

They exchanged their phone numbers and promised each other to stay in touch while walking back to Lydia's hotel.

"Are you leaving tomorrow?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah. I've got a new lead for…"

He cut himself off, not wanting to bring Peter Hale back in the conversation but the atmosphere had been already altered. Lydia felt it, felt the void inside of her again and moved away from his arm that she had linked with hers.

"You'll be careful, right?"

"Yeah…"

Silence fell on them again by the time they reached Lydia's hotel. Speechless, they stared at each other for a little while, not knowing what to do, what to say. Lydia eventually took him in her arms, wishing him good night and opened the door.

Stiles's gaze stayed on her until she disappeared in the lobby. He had wanted to ask her to come with him but knew it would have been a bad idea so, he hadn't said anything. He turned around and started to walk away, sighing in the night and wondering if he would be able to fall asleep tonight. It would be a miracle if he would.

That night, Lydia woke up crying in her hotel room. She'd had her nightmare once again and the monster was human this time. She was sitting against a wall in a small path, naked, with her stomach cut opened and her guts streaming down the gutter. The monster was devouring her entrails, smiling at her with a toothy grin. She couldn't do anything, couldn't move a single limb. She was struggling to keep her eyes opened but it took too much of her energy and she needed that energy to beg him to stop. Which she didn't. He whispered awful things in her hear. She couldn't remember what.

When she woke up, a new rage had settled in her. Some sort of heat was spreading inside her chest. Not the comfortable but fleeting warmth she had felt the entire evening. It was something permanent, cruel, colder maybe. Revenge.

Stiles's revelations and her nightmare mingled. She had to go out on her balcony to breathe the night fresh air but had forgotten that her room was facing the cemetery. From her spot, she could see Allison's grave.

She grabbed her phone and sent a text to Stiles, telling him that she would come with him to find Peter if he wanted her to. The second after hitting _send_ , she received a plain _Okay._

She wanted to find him, make him pay. And if she had to go through it to feel warm, to feel blood flowing in her veins, she would take it. She couldn't go back to work anyway: she couldn't see herself take back her life where she left it. Not when she knew that the monster from her nightmare was real and that Allison wasn't avenged.

* * *

 _When the police questioned her, the neighbour maintained that she had heard noises during the night. She hadn't had the reaction to look at the time but when she went out, it was pitch dark. The air was icy and the light of the full moon intensified the whiteness of her breath, each exhalation turning into curls of smoke before vanishing into the night. She had tightened her robe to feel warmer. She wasn't positive about what exactly she had been hearing. She couldn't tell if those cries belonged to a dog, a wolf or a human being, just like cats can sometimes imitate the cry of a new-born baby. They were several of them, fighting. Her only certainty was that there were sounds of flesh, bodies thrown against walls. They were whining, groaning. It had sent a shiver down her spine, so she had gone back inside. This nice woman was well known for her psychotic disorders. No action was taken about her call._

 _The taste of blood in his mouth was the only thing that prompted him to crawl out of his den. The taste of the victory he just crushed. At his feet were four gutted corpses: animals? humans? What did it matter? Blood and flesh are the same._

 _He went out, it had been ages since he had felt such a surge of energy. Knowing where it was coming from was unimportant. Something was warming him from the inside and that thing was keeping him alive. He had no idea whether he was walking on four feet or two, he couldn't tell the difference. He didn't even know what came out of his mouth when he uttered sounds._

 _The street turned left and that's when he saw her. She must have been 15 years old, beautiful strawberry blond hair and green eyes. The teenager stopped in her track when she saw him, visibly scared. He had no idea what made him scary but he loved that horrified look in the eyes of the people who crossed his path._

 _Suddenly, the urge of tasting her felt too strong. She was easy to catch; her flesh was tender and easily ripped up. She was still alive when he ate her intestine. He tried to soothe her, telling her how beautiful she was, that he was in love with her, that all of this was nothing but natural. He managed to make her quiet. Or maybe had she eventually died? That didn't really matter._

 _He brought the corpse back in his path and piled it up above the other corpses, guessing that birds and rats would take over._

 _One last time, he howled to the moon before slipping further into the darkness._

* * *

Stiles didn't sleep a lot that night. He had waited in his car until the influence of wine wore off. He couldn't help but think that he should have told her something else, but what? Something was missing. His entire teenage years had been spent admiring her, protecting her from afar. She had been the main point of his existence without knowing it. With distance and years, his mind had only turned her into some sort of mythical creature, a gorgeous and unapproachable goddess, barely human.

Seeing her without expecting it, talking to her, giving everything away within a few hours seemed now surreal. Had it truly happened? No, it was probably another trick; his mind was playing him once again. A few hours and she had disappeared. It was a dream, nothing more. It wasn't _possible_ , he had thought about this moment a thousand times and hadn't told her a single thing he wanted to tell her. He was pondering while staring at the moon, a full moon that was lighting up the village in black and white.

He fell asleep until the buzzing of his phone woke him up. He had a message. From Lydia. His heart leaped in his throat, she wanted to come with him? Without thinking about anything, he answered "okay" while knowing that he shouldn't have answered at all.

Several emotions were crossing his mind but there was no way he could tell them apart since they all seemed to turn into warmth waves overwhelming him when he recalled her smile, her laugh. He was the personification of bliss: sitting in his car, smiling at the moon, the eyes full of stars and the stomach full of butterflies.

He fell asleep again but the feeling of an impending disaster woke him up. Something inside of him was telling him that he had irrevocably doomed her. He could have backed up, could have left when he had seen her at the cemetery. She would have gone home, had a chance for a normal life. What was he giving her if not a search he knew could last forever? A tragic destiny without redemption?

He didn't fall asleep again after that. He watched the sun rising in the sky. He could leave, there was still time. He didn't. Instead, he wrote her to meet him at his car at seven. The thought of the disaster to come was still tightening his chest when he bought them two coffees and something to eat. He was selfish, always had been. He cursed himself for that; his father and Allison had died because of that! What if Lydia died too?

But when he saw her coming from afar, all his thought faded away. The sight of her had hushed the voices in his head. He only felt the same adoration he had always felt for her.

After they drank their coffees and ate, they went away. They had a few days trip ahead of them: Stiles's new lead would take them to Spain, to a village in the middle of the country. After his last fruitless chase, he had found a young man waiting for him in front of his hotel. The man had told him that a woman from Peter's family wanted to meet him, he had given him all the information and had vanished in the night before Stiles could ask any questions. He was still suspicious but it was his only lead given his source couldn't be reached.

Before leaving the village, they went one last time to the cemetery to make their goodbyes to Allison. They then made a stop in the nearer big city for Lydia who had to buy some clothes and send an email to her university.

Stiles tried to convince her to go back home but she refused. She finally understood those tragic heroines who only lived for vengeance, who could only breathe after their act had been done. She was Antigone, Electra, she was all of those Greeks goddesses filled with the urge to make the men pay, the ones who had scorned them. She was thrusting with justice and blood. Everything else was an illusion. Vengeance gave her a landmark, a magnetic north and she had no desire to give it up. Not after spending so many years losing herself in her own existence.

She didn't flinch when she sent her email, putting this part of her life behind her. Since the day before, she finally felt alive. Emotions, genuine emotions, were rushing inside of her and even if she couldn't name them or tell them apart, she knew they didn't compare to what she had been feeling for the last ten years. She wasn't cold anymore, not like before. It didn't feel like tomorrow would be the same day as yesterday because she didn't know what the future held. It gave her shivers that woke her up from what seemed to be a long sleep, a long coma. She had been sleeping with opened eyes, surviving without living.

They bought everything necessary and got back into the car. After more than two decades spent living in the same world, breathing the same suffocating air, they had found each other. They had stroke their matches above Allison's grave, merging their pain to create a dangerous and eternal fire, a thousand years old fire. Together they had awakened the Erinyes, children of the Earth and the Sky, born from the primordial Chaos to restore justice.

Their car headed towards the sun. They looked at each other one last time before crossing the exit sign of the town. They recognized in the gaze of the other the same determination, the one that had driven Orestes crazy and that would make Peter beg for mercy.


	5. Sheltered

Some agitation had taken hold of Stiles. They had been driving for more than half a day and had reached the mountains. Until then, they had been able to count on the reassuring presence of the radio. Not anymore.

Lydia was currently driving, leaving Stiles with nothing to distract him from his thoughts. He had been talking about his stay in London for the past few minutes, making rambling comments about how the English were different from the Americans. He would have loved to stop talking but he couldn't help it, the silence was too uncomfortable for him.

During the firsts hours, Stiles had told Lydia all about his discoveries and his various leads. But this conversation had eventually come to an end and the excitation they had felt when they had left Marvejols had slowly faded. They both had to quietly face their decision and their consequences.

Lydia had no regrets, as surprising as it was for her. But she realized she barely knew Stiles and yet, she was almost blindly following him. This wasn't like her. Nor was her behaviour from last night or how physically close she allowed him to be.

She watched him drive and wondered what it was with him that hypnotized her like that. He wasn't built like the men who usually caught her eye and his tendency to let chance and luck guide him was making her anxious to no end.

But there was something in the way he had listened to her talking about her researches and about her nightmares that had mesmerized her. She had felt like his stare wasn't just on her. It had been inside of her, anchoring himself deeper and deeper. Some sort of aura was surrounding him. There was a fleeting flame in his gaze sometimes. Something that made him shine brightly and drew her always closer to him. Like a firefly looking for the tiniest source of light, looking for anything that could push the darkness away.

Music was filling the blanks but when it was no longer an option, some sort of awkwardness settled between them.

That's when Stiles had started to talk about the different cities he had lived in. He slipped a few jokes between two comments and swore he would have shut up if she would have sent him the tiniest bored glare… But the thing is, she kept slightly curling her lips, and it was enough encouragement for him to ramble on and on.

Her discreet smiles turned into actual replies and after a while, there wasn't anything easier than talking to each other. Her quick wit had an answer for each sarcastic remark he was throwing at her. They were both more and more at ease and were eventually able to talk about their lives, jobs, travels, hopes and disillusions without having to seek help in a bottle of wine.

Stiles wanted to talk about her nightmares again. He wanted to reassure her and promise her that he would do anything in his power to make them stop. He would rid her nights from terror even if he had to die for it.

But those words stayed trapped in his throat. He didn't want to bring it up again. Not when she looked so relaxed. It was hard for him to repress his inquisitive nature... his need to unravel every mystery. God knows Lydia Martin was the biggest mystery of all, and he wanted to relearn everything there was to know about her. That started with learning how far was too far when these nightmares were concerned, and he was already worried he may have crossed a line last night.

They entered a small village as evening fell. It was quiet in the car again. They watched the sun progressively set without even trying to turn the radio on.

Lydia yawned for the fourth time right after Stiles and they decided to stop for the night. The only hotel in sight appeared to have witnessed the two world wars, but it was too late to keep driving on the small roads. They took the first room they were offered.

Stiles settled in the armchair, letting Lydia sleep in the bed. She promised to drive more on the next day and to let him have the bed in the next hotel.

As it turned out, neither of them were able to sleep that night. Their room couldn't be locked and it seemed that someone had tried to attack their window several times from the outside. They spent the night on the lookout for any unusual noise after someone had barged in their room. It was an old man in nothing more than a bathrobe. He was stinking of alcohol and seemed to be mad at them for some reason. After that, they talked quietly to each other and made a game out of trying to identify each sound they heard. The hallway was always filled with noises: laughs, fights, doors banging and something Stiles was sure sounded like a martinet.

"A martinet?'" asked an incredulous Lydia.

"Yeah, it's a type of whip. Some French parents use it to punish their children."

"I'm well aware of what a martinet is, Stiles," with a smirk, she added, "I'm also well aware that it's not _just_ a punitive device for children in France."

"What are you...wait...Oh my God! No! Not like that," he tried to defend himself. He let out a sigh. "It's a long story, but it just so happens that I do a lot of googling when I can't sleep."

Lydia was now nodding with a far too amused look on her face. "Oh... _googling._ Is that what Americans are calling it these days?"

"Stop it," he groaned, mostly at himself. "I mean, you knew what it was too."

"Oh, I read," she told him confidently. "And yeah...sure...let's say it's a martinet."

They giggled and spent the rest of the night talking, startling at any strange sound.

They managed to sleep a few hours but didn't stay too long after eating their breakfast. The atmosphere in the car was less tense than the day before. They hadn't slept much and chuckled nervously while recalling their night in this strange hotel.

They took turns driving. Every two or three hours, they would stop to stock up on caffeine, then switch places to allow the previous driver to rest in the passenger seat.

It was a beautiful day. The intense blue of the sky was the definition of azure. There wasn't a single cloud on the horizon. Lydia was driving on a deserted road with her left arm outside of the window and sunglasses on her nose.

The last time they had stopped, they had bought a few CDs. Among the various Spanish folk bands, Lydia had found an old Adele album. Stiles had sent her a quizzical look but surprisingly didn't make any comment.

She was humming quietly along to the lyrics while trying to keep the volume at it's minimum to avoid waking Stiles. He'd made a pillow out of his jacket and had fallen asleep with his head against the window.

When Lydia's gaze fell on him, she could feel this aura around him filling their small rental car. She couldn't help but marvel at his profile. He looked so serene and peaceful that his face seemed to be carved in marble.

The sun was barely brushing against him, emphasizing his bone structure and casting delicate shadows of his cheekbones, jaw and turned up nose. She hadn't noticed until then his incredibly long eyelashes. The ones responsible for this gaze that made her momentarily forget how to calculate the root of the easiest polynomial. She couldn't help but smile every time his parted lips let out a few snores.

When she got out of the car to fill the tank, she couldn't stop herself from staring at him through the window. She caught herself counting the moles scattered on his face and seeming to sink deeper on his chest. Her mind was surely somewhere else when she realized she was nibbling at her lips while staring at his long, elegant fingers and his arms with slightly defined muscles.

As she got back in the car, she took a few deep breaths, trying to pull herself together being as quiet as she could. She couldn't allow herself to have such thoughts. This wasn't her and this wasn't the reason why she had chosen to follow him. Her new mantra was showing her the right way and she had to follow it: Peter had to pay. Nothing else mattered.

And just like that, her smile vanished. Her cheeks exchanged their red shade for a paler one.

She hadn't noticed that the snoring had stopped. Stiles was awake, observing her.

A few of her locks had escaped her complicated braid to fly outside the opened window. With this light, her hair had this orange shade of red and contrasted perfectly with the blue of the sky. The wind was funnelling into her blouse, letting him sometimes catch a glimpse at the lace on her bra.

He had saw her brief smile before her face had turned into stone again, wringing his heart in the process. She was gorgeous. Her smile carried promises of lazy mornings spent in bed until noon, of walks with bare feet on the grass, of warm pancakes and popcorn smells. He wanted more than anything to allow her to keep this smile forever.

But they had something to do, someone to find. It was the only way she could wear that smile again. They only had to find him. If that was even possible.

It was his turn to feel the joy leave his lips and his face. He sat up, drawing her attention on him. With a neutral tone, she told him they were almost reaching their next stop. He nodded while looking at the unfolding landscape through the window.

The area was barely inhabited and the few hotels they found were long closed. They only managed to find available rooms in a Catholic convent. They would have to pay for two rooms since they weren't married or even related. With their strength failing them, the mere thought of getting back into the car to drive another hour to _maybe_ find something cheaper was exhausting enough. With a sigh, Stiles begrudgingly handed the money over.

Their rooms were adjacent and Lydia noticed really quickly how thin the walls were when she heard Stiles humming one of the Adele songs she was listening to in the car. She tried to stifle her laugh and eventually pressed an ear to the wall.

Lydia heard a muffled sound followed by a curse. He had probably stumbled against his backpack with his eyes closed while trying to reach a high note. She recognized the slam of a door and felt her heart rate increase realizing that he might have left his room to enter hers.

She was still laughing but moved away quickly from the wall when someone knocked on her door. She tried to appear composed while tidying her hair and opened the door. Stiles was there, smiling like it was the most natural thing he could do and totally unaware of what just happened.

"Could you give me the map? I'd like to check something for tomorrow."

Lydia nodded, biting her cheek to avoid laughing. She went through her purse and gave him the map with the Adele CD at the same time.

The look of disbelief in his eyes was quickly replaced by understanding and embarrassment. His whole face and neck turned red. He kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Lydia couldn't contain her laugh anymore and it finally bubbled out of her. The sound surprised her. She realized she hadn't laughed this hard in ages, and it felt good. It felt _incredible_. Her stomach hurt in a delicious way, and the tears rolling down her cheeks and into her mouth had never tasted so much like freedom. And it wasn't even that funny. Oh God, she was tired…

When she was able to speak again, even her voice sounded warmer.

"It's just to help you practice… To reach those high notes…"

She dried her wet eyes, trying to stare at something else than his amber eyes that seemed to light another fire in her stomach. Her lips drew on her face the most innocent smile Stiles had ever seen. He just smiled, shaking his head.

"I see…"

"But watch out, walls are not that thick. Old neighbours could complain."

Lydia had leaned against the door, still smiling while Stiles kept staring at her and shaking his head again.

"Well, thanks for the advice. I'm gonna go and… keep practicing. Don't hesitate to sing the chorus with me. Could be fun…"

She laughed through her nose but couldn't find anything to reply. The intensity of his gaze on her was making her nervous. She eventually broke the silence.

"I'm gonna take a shower. We meet in an hour for dinner?"

He nodded and smiled one last time before going back into his room. His hand was on the handle of his door when he paused. He looked toward Lydia's door which was now closed. An elderly couple went past behind him, staring and frowning at him. He felt like a love-struck teenager and it was most probably written all over his face. He greeted them and ended up opening his door. Right after scientist-Lydia, joking-Lydia was definitely his favourite.

That night, Lydia screamed and cried herself awake. As fast as he could, Stiles stumbled out of his room but a nun had rushed to her aid, making him understand to go back into his room. He reluctantly complied but pressed his ear against the wall as soon as he was inside, waiting for the nun to be gone.

He heard muffled voices and finally the slam of the door. He had trouble concealing the concern in his voice.

"Hey Lydia? Are you okay? What was it? A nightmare?"

"Yeah… But it's alright now… It's gone…"

"Lydia…"

She didn't answer but he could hear her snuffle and breathe a little too loud for somebody who claimed to be alright.

"Lydia, come on… You can tell me anything. I know what it's like to have nightmares and not know if you are awake or still asleep. When I was… possessed… It was like that every night. Sometimes even during class…"

He sat on the floor, his head against the wall and his gaze staring at the ceiling plunged into darkness.

"I opened my eyes and was so sure I was awake but then something would happen… And I woke up again… And again, and again… Until I didn't... Not for several weeks. So many people had died..."

He took his head in his hands and dried his eyes. It still felt like it was yesterday and he could still feel the taste of blood in his mouth and still felt as nauseous as he had felt when he had realized everything that had happened.

There wasn't any noise on the other side of the wall. Maybe Lydia wasn't listening anymore and had fallen asleep.

"Lydia? Are you still with me?"

"Yeah…"

Her voice was closer to the wall. Stiles could hear her fidget so he kept quiet, figuring she was reluctant to ask him something.

"D… Does it still happen?"

"No. But I still have this reflex to count my fingers sometimes to be sure I'm awake."

"What do you mean?"

"I've read somewhere that you couldn't read or count in your dreams. You always have more fingers. I don't know if that's true but it works. It helps me relax."

"That's really smart."

A small and sad smile crept on his lips. He let the silence stretch a little.

"Are you feeling better?"

"No…"

She had waited a little before answering. Stiles could hear her voice at his ear level now and pictured her in the same position he was. Their heads and shoulders at the same height, leaning on each other. She resumed after a few seconds.

"The images… It always takes time before they leave my mind. Sometimes, they are more than images, I… I feel his fingers, his claws and teeth on my skin."

She choked back her tears and Stiles wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms. But he felt that he would break some fragile balance if he stood up. He closed his eyes, letting her speak.

"I always relive the formal night. On the Lacrosse field. He throws himself at me and…"

Lydia remained silent a few seconds, looking for the right words to describe what she was failing to name. Once again, there were none.

"But it's different in my nightmares. I'm always on that path, this maze."

"How does it end?"

Stiles had waited before asking, making sure she was done.

"I… I don't know… It's like… like I was witnessing a part of a scene… like it was really happening somewhere."

A shiver down his spine made him keep quiet about the idea that it was maybe true.

"When we find him, it will stop."

"I hope so."

Her tone had hardened again, her voice devoid of sob.

"You wanna try to sleep now, Lyds?"

The nickname surprised them both and they both felt blood rushing in their ears. They held their breath and waited for the other one to react. Lydia eventually realized she had to answer something.

"No… Can we talk a little more?"

"Yeah of course."

They talked a while longer, reassuring each other with comforting words. Anxiety and tiredness had overwhelmed them and after a while, without even noticing it, they weren't making sense anymore. Their syntax began to be more and more incorrect and by the end, they weren't even able to speak in complete sentences.

And yet, they kept replying to the other, understanding each other in every sense of the word.

In the heart of this cold night, in this impersonal hotel, they finally had the feeling that the world wasn't looking their way anymore. Leaving them alone. Sheltered. Letting them warm each other up and nursing their wounds.

They took their pillows and blanket to keep talking on the floor. Going in the other's room didn't even cross their tired minds. They were nesting inside the other in a way that felt more intimate than anything else. She was opening her soul to him and Stiles was drunk on her. He took everything she gave him, keeping it carefully inside of him and making sure he was reciprocating.

They finally fell asleep like that, one hand reaching for the other but only finding the coldness of the wall.

The next morning, they met downstairs in the breakfast room. They didn't say much but smiled at each other every time their eyes met.

Stiles watched her talking with their table neighbour in a stunning Spanish. He had never seen her so peaceful since they met and he felt strangely soothed.

Lydia had almost forgotten the reason she was there.

When they got into the car for their last day on the road, they both felt like they were travelling with a childhood friend, someone they had known for their whole lives.

Stiles had always believed he knew her like the back of his hand after all those years spent contemplating her. But he was surprised, catching sight of some of her sides that he didn't know. He marvelled at them because they belonged to the real Lydia, the one who didn't wear any mask. The one he fell in love with so many years ago.


	6. Finding North

They arrived in the small town where their contact had said she would be and didn't even have the time to rest before their meeting. The GPS coordinates they had received led them to a parking lot where a man was waiting for them. Once the car parked, he gestured them to follow him.

The man was leading them further into a maze of deserted streets. The bleak surroundings sent shivers down Stiles's spine and that man hadn't said a single word. As far as they knew, he was leading them into a trap. He suddenly feared he had stuck their heads in the lion's mouth without thinking this through. It never really had mattered before, but it did now. Lydia was with him, he had to be more careful.

He was cursing himself and wouldn't have noticed the regular brushing of Lydia's finger against his hand if he wasn't this aware of her presence by his side. He could feel her breathing a little too loud, taking hesitant steps while trying to keep their guide in sight. He could see her glancing discreetly around them and understood that the same agitation had taken over her too. She surely didn't even realize that each step she took was drawing her closer to him, that she was subconsciously seeking an anchor in the warmth of his hand.

Without thinking it over, Stiles let his hand hang a little looser. Lydia flinched slightly when she felt the lingering contact of Stiles's hand against hers but didn't say anything and didn't divert her eyes from their guide's neck. She was now knowingly avoiding the contact with his hand and Stiles was holding his breath, hoping to erase the few last seconds from his memory. After a few steps, he felt the electricity her fingertips left against his hand again and could finally release his breath.

From the corner of his eye, he saw what he believed was the tiniest smile he had ever seen on her lips. Looking down, he smiled too. It seemed to seal their silent agreement which led them to allow their hands to brush with every step they took, giving them balance and comfort.

Their guide opened the door of a disused building, gesturing them to follow him inside. Stiles and Lydia quickly glanced at each other before entering. She tried to put all the gratitude she felt for him in this brief glance. He flashed her a smile that could only be the definition of fondness and she hoped in that instant that he would always be able to translate what she was failing to verbalize.

They descended several flights of stairs and were asked to wait in a dark room. Their hands brushed again, her fingertips looking for his before finally intertwining. Their eyes got used to the darkness and they both startled when a woman they hadn't seen stood up from across the room and turned the light on. With no forewarning, she began to talk.

"I know you're looking for Peter, we've been following you for a while now. Have no fear, we're not enemies. Peter brings disgrace on our family and entire species with his deviant acts. We want to help you find him."

The woman paused so Stiles stepped forward.

"I'm sorry but who-"

"There was a man who contacted us years ago." She cut him off, stepping forward as well. "I'm not sure who he is but he seemed to know Peter and wanted to find him. He told us about you, and he has been feeding us both information since then. Recently, I'm sure you've noticed, he's been difficult to reach. I fear he may have run into some trouble, so I made the decision to contact you. Thanks to his last message, I knew you were in Marvejols-"

"Wait… _trouble_? What _kind_ of trouble?"

"Well…" she cleared her throat, visibly embarrassed. "I can't know for sure, but there are people who worship Peter for his ability to put his humanity completely aside and they'll do anything to help him… Worst case scenario, he's been kidnapped and is being tortured."

Stiles felt Lydia moving forward and grabbing his arm

"What's the best case scenario?" Lydia asked with a quiver in her voice.

"That he was killed quickly."

"Jesus… Okay…" Stiles whispered, rubbing Lydia's fingers. "What makes you assume that?"

"Shortly before we lost contact, we received a video he recorded of himself speaking about a recent discovery he made. He was running and was worried he had been followed. The video ends abruptly, and since then..." She trailed off. "I wanted to make sure you got the information. I need someone unknown on the field… Someone like you. Everyone in Peter's circle would recognize me."

"Okay… What's the… What's the information then?" he said with a gulp.

"A teenage girl was found dead in Madrid. Her liver had been devoured. It seems that someone of our species committed the crime but it's difficult to know if it was Peter or not. We know one of the Medical Examiner's who is willing to give us the result of the autopsy: the analysis of the bite marks should help us determine the strength and height of the attacker. We'll start with that…"

The meeting only lasted a few minutes. They were able to ask a few questions but Stiles quickly realized that she couldn't give them any more information. Whether that was because couldn't or _wouldn't_ , Stiles wasn't sure. She may be trying to help, but Stiles only trusted her as far as he could throw her.

Madrid wasn't far away, a few hours maybe, but they were tired and it was already pitch black when they got out of the building.

They walked, trying to remember the right way. Lydia had a bad feeling. She didn't know if it was a simple response of her scared brain to those gloomy streets or if there was a real threat waiting to jump on them from one of the many dark corners.

A lump started to grow down her throat, making it hard to breathe and tightening her entire chest. She started to open her mouth to speak when she felt someone grabbing her arm and putting a hand over her mouth while the other arm was clasping her around her shoulders to pull her backwards. She ceased struggling when she realized it was Stiles who whispered in her ear:

"Sorry but someone is following us…"

He had pinned her against him in one of the alcoves along the street. She didn't say anything, trying to be as quiet as possible. She could feel his heart beating against her back at the same erratic rhythm as hers. She felt all his muscles tighten around her and his warm and irregular breath caressing the nape of her neck and her hair. Curiously, it seemed to soothe her. His breathing was the only thing she could hear and focusing on that sound helped her forget the lump in her throat.

When Lydia finally managed to steady her own heartbeat, she nodded and the hand Stiles still had on her mouth joined his arm clasping around her shoulders. Lydia let her hands meet his arms in front of her chest.

Footsteps were coming closer. Stiles and Lydia held their breaths and tightened their embrace. Her hair tickled his nose a little as he felt her head leaning against his shoulder. He leaned forwards to bury his nose into it, breathing her in and feeling his heartbeat slow down at the same time.

"You moron! That's your fault! You lost sight of them!"

"Whatever… Let's just find another corpse to bring back."

The two men's voices faded then in the darkness and Lydia finally felt her chest and throat relax.

"Stiles? Stiles?"

She was whispering, the silence in the street was almost deafening and she was afraid to make the lowest sound. He wasn't answering nor moving so she kept going.

"I think we're okay…Stiles?"

"No, it's not okay…"

He lowered his head. His mouth was barely an inch away from her ear.

"They were here to kill us Lydia. It's all my fault that you ended up in this shitty situation. If you die, it's on me… We go to Madrid, you take a plane and go home. It's too dangerous."

"No, Stiles!"

They were both still whispering but could hear the anger boiling underneath their words. Lydia abruptly turned around to face him. Stiles tried to hold her still by gripping her waist but she untied herself from him with such strength that he only managed to catch hold on her sleeve.

"I won't go home, we already acknowledged that. Home… I'm not even sure I know where it is! Look, let's go, okay? We're not gonna stay here. We'll talk about it once we're somewhere safe."

He didn't answer but nodded and let go of the sleeve he was still firmly holding.

She wanted to make him understand this strength she felt in her. This strength pushing her toward the accomplishment of her task: find Peter and kill him. It was her duty. As if her entire life had led her to this moment. Everything else had to be put in brackets for a while, it may last a couple of weeks, months, years, … It didn't matter to her as long as she followed through. Life wasn't a career. It was made of several stages but there was no goal. Only death at the end. And she knew she wouldn't die of old age surrounded by love and family if she lingered too long on this stage. The next one was awaiting her. Life was about transformation, evolution.

But she didn't know how to verbalize that, how to make him truly understand so she made up her mind. She decided as they were walking that if he couldn't understand her, she would go on alone. She didn't need him, not anymore. She knew where to go now. They could stay in touch to give each other information about what they would find.

She would admittedly miss his presence, the intensity in his gaze, the warmth of his hands, his sarcasm, the red flushing of his cheeks, … But it didn't matter. She was reclaiming her destiny, she could feel it. It filled her with a joy she had never experienced before. She was going forward, she felt powerful. Nothing and nobody would stop her.

Stiles tried but couldn't guess what was on her mind. Something was wrong, that was obvious in the way she tensed every time his hand brushed hers. He eventually gave her more space. He was right and if they never see each other again, if he had just cut boldly into the ties that seemed to draw them toward each other, so be it. He was right, she wasn't safe with him.

xxxxxxxx

They found a hotel and got a room. Stiles tried to convince her to leave again but it was a lost cause. She wasn't even listening to him.

Lydia's voice was quivering with a wild anger that she didn't recognize when she told him she would continue without him if she had to. Stiles remained motionless for a while, unable to move, to think. He suddenly felt tiny, an insect in front of a true force of nature.

Letting the silence stretch and at a loss of words, he went to the bathroom to take a shower but even the boiling hot water wasn't enough to warm him up. Her translucent green eyes and the tone of her steady voice had chilled him to the bone.

He was afraid he had just lost her forever. Now that seeing her leave was a real possibility, he was terrified. Terrified at the idea to take his old life back knowing that she was somewhere in the world, putting herself in danger to find someone he should have found himself a long time ago.

When he came out of the shower, she was asleep in the chair, letting him take the bed. He settled in the bed, under the blankets and sank into a blank and dream-free sleep.

xxxxxxxx

After what could have been hours or minutes, he woke up to terrible screams. Lydia was tossing and turning in her sleep with an incredible strength. Pillows and blankets were on the floor, she was crying and almost to the point of pulling her hair out.

Stiles leapt to his feet, not really knowing what to do. He took her in his arms and tried to softly lull her, tirelessly whispering in her ear "Lydia, it's alright, wake up".

She was freezing. She was struggling so much that Stiles had to climb in the chair behind her to immobilize her between his legs with her head under his chin to save her from harming herself more than what she already did.

Tears progressively stopped running down her cheeks and the twitch abiding in her body slowly faded. She finally opened her eyes, still gasping for breath, unable to speak and still frozen. It took her time to register where she was and who those arms around her belonged to.

Everything came back to her and she let herself melt against his chest, snuggling her head in the crook of his neck. She hid her face there and started crying again.

"I can't stand it anymore… I can't… I'm cold… so cold…"

Her words were broken with sobs. Stiles tightened his embrace around her and rubbed her arms. When he felt her relax under his palms, he whispered into her skin:

"You should take a shower; hot water could soothe you."

She silently nodded, dried her eyes and absently headed for the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, Stiles let out a deep sigh and let himself fall against the back of the armchair. He was more than worried. Seeing her in this state was throwing him into a nameless panic and a little voice in his head was telling him that it was all his fault. He was brooding about the same things all over again. They were both stuck in an endless loop, had been repeating the same mistakes for ten years already and had no idea how to break out of this loop.

He tried to struggle against the weight of his heavy eyelids.

He would have wanted to see her come out of the shower and back in the bed, make sure that she was feeling better. But the steady sound of the running water was lulling him to sleep. He eventually caved in and drifted off without noticing. Exhausted and distraught, burning to join her and hold her in his arms a little longer but paralysed by the fear to invade her personal space.

xxxxxxxx

Lydia stayed a long time huddled up under the boiling hot water. Her skin on her shoulder was turning red and the steam was so thick that she could only vaguely make out the outlines of the objects around her. But it was no use, she couldn't warm herself up.

She silently cried without knowing why. The emptiness she knew very well now was settling inside of her, spreading her dark wings until she felt completely smothered. And yet, she was sure she had broken out of her nightmare when she had felt the strength of Stiles's arms around her.

Driven to despair, she let herself go, let the rage that had filled her a few hours ago swallowed her up again. She felt nothing else than the desire and the need to kill to get her revenge when she dried her tears. In a sort of haze, she turned the water off and got dressed. When she went out of the room, she didn't even have a glance at Stiles asleep in the armchair.

* * *

 _He relished this freedom. He had found the strength to venture in the streets, which was rather rare. But what was even more rare, was this insatiable thirst for blood and he loved that. Usually, there always was a time when he felt disgusted with himself and went back in his hole. But not this time. Nothing and nobody could stop him._

 _It was a massacre. He was running on random streets, passing more slowly near street lights and enjoying with anticipation the terror of the people who would see him. He tore apart everything and everyone he found. Sometimes just to watch an old man dying in front of him._

 _He didn't know where his feet were leading him. His instinct was screaming violence and he contented himself with listening and following it._

 _How long had the trance lasted? A few hours? Many days?_

 _The sound of a train in the distance broke him out of it. The train station. What was he doing here? He looked around himself. The ground was covered with glass from broken shop windows and a with a few dead bodies._

 _He started to walk back to his den but winced and noticed some sorts of burns on his shoulders that didn't seem to heal like any wound would._

 _With a shrug and a satisfied grin, he left._

* * *

Stiles woke up with a start a few hours later. Something had changed and it made him nervously bite his lips. He spent a few seconds to take deep breaths and realized that the sound of the shower was gone. The realization made him relax a little bit and he turned around to check whether Lydia was asleep in her bed or not.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and he could finally make out some shades and shapes thanks to the blue ghostly light from the alarm clock next to the bed.

When he realized that there was nothing between the sheets, his heart made an abrupt stop. He stood up and hurt his eyes when he turned all the lights on. He looked everywhere in the room and the bathroom, screaming her name and even checking under the bed and inside the closet. There was no trace of Lydia. She was gone.

Stiles froze, unable to conceive coherent thoughts. He wanted to scream, throw everything in the room at the walls. How could his surroundings be so quiet when a storm was raging inside of him?

He barely tied up his shoelaces, picked a shirt and rushed to the reception that _thank God_ was opened 24 hours.

Scruffy, with dishevelled hair and distracted eyes, Stiles stood in front of the receptionist who didn't even look up from the magazine he was reading. He was flipping through it with an unconcerned look on his face while chewing gum. Stiles could see braces on his teeth every time he opened his mouth to take his bubble back into it. Loud music was filtering through his earphones and the teenager was humming the lyrics.

Stiles tried several times to get his attention and failed. Something was about to snap in him and he caught one of the earphones. The young boy rose his head shouting what Stiles interpreted as an insult. He managed somehow to understand that Lydia had called for a taxi to drive her to the train station.

After half an hour of waiting and pacing, a taxi finally arrived. It was cold outside but Stiles was too focused on remembering the events that at lead to this situation to notice. He could have done a lot of things to avoid it. He could have shut his mouth in the first place, he had to learn how to do that… He could have decided not to leave her alone in the bathroom but the mere idea of holding a naked Lydia in his arms was making him flush from his head to his feet… He definitely should have stayed awake, waited for her to come out of the shower.

He kept rubbing his eyes, hoping to wake up at any moment from this nightmare. But he could read everything around him and could count his ten fingers. He was already awake.

When the taxi stopped in front of the station, he sprinted off. Something was wrong. He didn't know what, but something had just happened.

It was dark inside of the building and he had the feeling he was walking on broken glass. He didn't pay attention to it, nor did he pay attention to the vandalized shop windows. His entire brain was screaming _Lydia_ and she was the only thing he could think about.

The station was small and he found her quickly. She was huddled on a bench, her eyes wide and with dry marks of tears on her cheeks. Stiles came up slowly to her.

"Lydia?"

She turned her head toward him with a start, as if he had awoken her. There was something like relief printed on her face that made Stiles's heart beat a little faster. She was so frail in the instant that he was dying to shield her from the entire world in his arms.

"Can I sit down here?"

She answered with a nod, moving slightly to make room for him but remained speechless so Stiles resumed as softly as he could.

"Did you want to take a train?"

Lydia was staring at her intertwined fingers on her lap but still didn't open her mouth. Stiles would have wanted to tell her how scared he had been, maybe get a little worked up; but she finally turned her gaze on him, and the distress he read in it made him keep his criticisms to himself.

When she eventually spoke, her voice was really weak and hoarse like she had been screaming too loud.

"No… I don't think so…"

She was now staring at something behind Stiles and withdrew into silence again. They stayed like this for a long time. Stiles didn't dare to say anything, but Lydia eventually broke the silence.

"I'm tired."

Stiles stood up, offering her his hand for leverage.

"Come on then, I'm gonna call a taxi."

Lydia tried to stand but her legs failed her and she collapsed against Stiles who managed to hold her at the last second. He helped her walking out of the station and climbing in the taxi still parked in front of the station.

xxxxxxxx

When they arrived at the hotel room, Stiles tucked her in the bed and collapsed onto the armchair.

Lydia was exhausted but couldn't close her eyes. She had a strange feeling that she was awaking from the most vivid nightmare she ever had. The events weren't clear in her mind but the hate she had felt was still there somewhere. She was cold again and started panicking. The thoughts that had crossed her mind weren't hers, she didn't recognize them. And yet she had moved from this room to the train station… But why? Why the train station? To go to Madrid by herself? That's the idea she had had but she didn't remember making the decision. It was as if someone else had made it for her.

A noise followed by swears made her sit up. She adjusted to the darkness and saw Stiles trying to fit his long legs in the small armchair. A soothing warmth spread through her.

"Stiles?"

"What? Are you hurt? Are you alright?"

She smiled, biting her lower lip. He had answered the second she had called him and almost fallen down in his haste to turn around to look at her.

"Come here, you'll sleep better in the bed."

"No, it's alright. You need a good sleep more than I do."

"Stiles, I can… We can share you know, the bed is big enough for two."

Lydia was happy the room was plunged into darkness because she couldn't hide her smile any more. It took a few seconds for Stiles to understand what she was suggesting.

"Oh… Well… I… If you… Really?"

"Stiles, come on…"

"Yeah… Yeah, alright."

She slipped under the blankets and turned to face the other side of the bed. Stiles hesitated before standing up and finally laid down next to her, keeping his distance to avoid invading her personal space. They were facing each other with a hand under their respective pillow, watching each other without saying anything. Silence was comfortable and seeing that she seemed to be herself again, Stiles couldn't resist the urge to break it.

"Lydia, look…"

"No please, don't… We'll speak tomorrow."

Stiles sensed such distress in her voice that he kept quiet. His free hand was nervously toying with the pillowcase. After the events of the night, he was still in a state of shock and this new proximity with Lydia made him feel a thousand different emotions. He didn't know what to do with his hands, didn't know how to keep still, what to say or even how to look at her. She was this determined woman, smart and dangerous. He knew that of course. But seeing her in such despair at the station had killed him. He felt the need deep inside of him to protect her, to shield her from the world but mostly from herself and from himself.

He opened his mouth again but she turned her back to him. It was like getting punched in the stomach, he was gasping for air. He was so in love with her, wanted to tell her and to beg her to let him try to make her happy. He couldn't move. He didn't dare.

She must had sensed his discomfort because she slightly turned around and without saying anything, took his hand that was still toying with the pillowcase in hers and intertwined their fingers. He started at the sensation of her frozen hand against his and instinctively came closer. Her back was colder than her hand and she let out a weak moan when she felt his warm chest behind her. She nestled closer against him, bringing their hands on her stomach. His left leg came between hers and Stiles felt her body warm up slowly against his.

Before drifting off to sleep, she weakly whispered "thanks" and fell asleep at the sensation of Stiles kissing her hair. He waited until her breath steadied itself to finally close his eyes.

xxxxxxxx

When Stiles woke up on the next morning, Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

He sat up abruptly on his forearms and for a few seconds, he thought his heart was trying to leap in his throat to get out. He was out of breath. Was the previous night some sort of premonition? Was he doomed to live this moment in a loop until the end of times?

The sudden sound of the shower made his brain remember how to use his lungs and he collapsed onto the pillows. He stayed like that a little while, waiting to collect his wits again.

Lydia came out of the bathroom and they didn't exchange a single word. Neither of them was hungry. They swallowed a large coffee and spent half an hour to find their car without exchanging a single word.

The ride to Madrid was as quiet. Stiles didn't know what to say. He was scared to say the thing that would make her leave for good so he didn't open his mouth. He drove. His fingers were betraying his nervousness while feverishly drumming on the wheel and on the gear stick.

Lydia didn't know what to say or what to do either. This silence was making her nauseous. She wasn't used to see him like that. Something was wrong and she was sure that it was because of what happened on the previous night.

She absently watched the landscape passing by. She wanted to thank him, tell him that she had slept a deep, quiet and refreshing sleep. She felt so much better today than the day before, better than any day in the past ten years to be honest.

Thinking about her behaviour from the previous day made her sick. She barely recognized herself in the hate that drove her to the train station. The idea that maybe those feelings weren't hers crossed her mind again and chilled her to the bone. That's what she wanted to tell him. He had to know. He had to know how much the comforting feeling of his body all around her had warmed up her entire body and soul.

But the landscape kept unfolding in front of her eyes. They entered the industrial and impersonal park surrounding every capital. With each billboard, she felt that what she was trying to rebuild between her and Stiles was shrinking.

The coldness of revenge was invading her mind again. Before it was too late, before she stopped to feel the warm beating of her heart and before she lost sight of the last fragile string tying them together, she told him the first thing she could think of.

"Did you see? There are posters for a _Star Wars_ exposition…"

He replied with a smile she knew too well: it was the same she had always used. A mere curl of the lips, a muscular reflex. A smile you could read on the lips but a smile that didn't reach the eyes.

Lydia suddenly wanted to cry, to scream. She was suffocating, it was too much, too much… She took a deep breath and recited her new mantra, hoping it would help her compass to point north again: find Peter, make him pay.


	7. Why don't we walk until tomorrow?

They found the Medical Examiner the woman told them about, but the results of the autopsy weren't available just yet. They were told to come back later in the day.

They silently agreed to start walking.

And they hadn't said anything since then.

For at least the tenth time, Stiles opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something but closed it. Lydia breathed loudly through her nose and her eyes fell on those posters announcing a _Star Wars_ exhibition again.

She came to a halt, caught hold of Stiles's arm and showed him the poster.

"You know, we could go there if you wanted to…"

Lydia wasn't a hardcore fan of those movies, but she remembered how carried away Stiles had gotten when he first told her about them. Maybe it would make him forget about what had happened last night.

"I don't know… I'm not really in the mood," he said, shrugging.

His eyes weren't meeting hers. He was looking down and absently scratching the gravel with the tip of his shoe, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Stiles?"

Lydia had to lower her head to meet his gaze but he kept looking away. He felt childish acting this way but he was lost and couldn't think of anything better.

"Stiles!"

She eventually caught his chin and made him look at her.

"We are not gonna aimlessly wander through the streets the entire day and I refuse to let you blame yourself any longer for I don't know what. You helped me a lot last night so let me help you clear your mind, okay? You told me once that _Star Wars_ helped you forget about everything, right? Don't you want that now?"

He finally looked at her and she thought she could read gratitude in his amber eyes. She smiled, relieved to see an actual emotion replacing the emptiness that had settled in his stare since the morning.

"Alright," he nodded, "let's go."

xxxxxxxx

The exhibition was amazing. The different rooms were plunged into darkness, blocking out the entire outside world and it felt like immersing himself in his childhood again. A time when everything looked easier from his perspective.

 _Star Wars_ always made him think about Scott. He had tried innumerable times to convince him to watch the movies with him… Even if it was just one. A wave of sadness took hold of him at the thought of his best friend and the fact that there had always been an emergency interrupting their quiet time together. _Star Wars_. Video games. Long talks. Their entire teenage years.

They hadn't really spoken in ten years. When Stiles had left, they would Skype or send each other long emails. Now… now it was a text for their birthdays or on New Year's Eve. Stiles always wondered how their reunion would go if he ever decided to go back to Beacon Hills. Deep inside, he wished they would be able to pick up their friendship from where they had left it off: safe in the tree house they had built in Scott's garden.

He tried to hold back the tears he felt coming and focused his gaze on Lydia who seemed to be deep in thought in front of an Ewok costume. She was raising an eyebrow in the most sceptical way Stiles had ever seen. Lydia must have felt his gaze on her because she turned her head and smiled at him. A genuine smile that made her eyes sparkle a little in the darkness.

Stiles felt his sadness evaporate in a second and replace itself with a mixture of adoration and exhilarating happiness. He caught himself giggling at the sight of her. It was improbable: here he was, enjoying himself in an exhibition for geeks with the most beautiful woman in the world who seemed to be enjoying herself as well. He decided to focus more. He owed her at least that for dragging her there.

Between costumes and photos, there were questions they had to answer to ultimately discover their identity in the _Star Wars_ universe.

Lydia wasn't really paying attention to it. She didn't know this universe so well and the main reason she had an excellent time was the cheerful and peaceful expression Stiles had worn during their visit.

But at the end, when she looked at him to point out the fact that they had the same result, his radiant smile was gone. There was something in his eyes Lydia couldn't decipher, fear maybe?

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's go…"

It wasn't a question nor an affirmation. He was completely lost.

Outside, torrential rain had begun to fall from the earlier blue sky and they didn't have an umbrella.

"Wait here, I'll see if I can get us a taxi."

"Sti-"

She tried to hold him back but he had already left, heading toward the empty taxi station.

He stopped in the middle of the square, motionless, his eyes turned toward the sky. Lydia stared at him a little while, wondering what could have happened and eventually ran to him.

The rain surprised her. It was warm and the raindrops were so big she was drenched to the skin after three steps. She eventually reached him and put her hand on his shoulder without saying anything. He turned his watery gaze toward her.

"Lydia…"

Stiles was looking for words, opening his mouth only to let out sighs. Lydia remained silent, figuring he needed time to find the exact words and to collect his wits.

"I saw it… I saw… We had the same result. Anakin… God I hate him..." He sighed once again and began to speak with frantic gesture, almost yelling at the end. "I could never understand how someone could let his life deteriorate so much. He's a stereotype, a cliché! His life is tragic. And we know it, we know it from the beginning. We know that the young boy who only wants to do good, who wants to love and make the people he loves happy is gonna end up killing all of them, destroying an entire civilization… And why? Love! All that for love. He's destroying himself everyday a little more without noticing it. That's fucked up… He's fucked up… Who does that? In the real world somebody would have done something to stop it. Right?"

He had said it in one breath without daring to look at Lydia. Her heart sank at the sight of his sad smile. She knew he was comparing his life to the result they got. Some bullshit like "Attachment is the path to the dark side. Careful you must be or Anakin Skywalker's fate you will know." She hated that it was affecting him this much. Something in her stomach made her want to take him in her arms to erase all those thoughts.

"It's just a silly game Stiles."

This small sad smile wasn't leaving his face but he was now looking at her.

Rain was pouring down. They were the only ones outside and the whole atmosphere made him suddenly wants to cry or run away with her until all their problems are gone. Of course, he didn't believe in what this stupid machine and its algorithm were prophesying. But they had the same result and that was scaring him to no end. He knew he had taken the wrong path a long time ago but her… No… he refused to lead her toward the same fate as him. She was made for life, passion, actual and genuine warmth. Not this illusion, this drug that was revenge.

He was now nervously laughing, feeling crazy. Crazy at the idea that somewhere, someone had decided that Lydia Martin's fate would be to follow his. That her destiny would be made of death, violence and sadness. He wanted to change everything, take the pen out of the hand of the author who had decided that Lydia Martin had to live a miserable life, and rewrite her story to make it a happy one.

"Stiles?"

Hearing her pronouncing his name roused him from his reverie. He was still laughing and Lydia was starting to worry.

"God Lydia… You deserve so much better!"

He hesitated a few seconds before taking her face in his hands.

"Why don't we just stop, Lydia… Let's… Let's go somewhere, anywhere! I want to see the Mediterranean Sea, taste all the ice cream flavours in the world… wake up with a sunburn on my head after sleeping on the beach and run through unknown streets without having someone to shake off!" He paused to stifle a laugh and run his thumb on Lydia's cheek, his voice rasping and almost a whisper "I know it's ridiculous, but Lydia… He already stole our teenage years! I don't want him to steal what we have left."

"Stiles, I…"

"One week, Lydia, one week."

He was so elated that he wasn't listening to her, he was sure she wouldn't agree anyway.

"You give me one week and we fly to…" he looked around and saw an advertisement for cheap flights to Andalusia."… Andalusia! Andalusia is perfect, right? One week in Andalusia and then, if you still wanna look for him, we will. And if you want me to leave you alone, I will."

"I don't know, Stiles…"

"One week."

His smile was starting to vanish and he was now murmuring, his eyes closed.

"Okay, yes…"

She had answered without pondering but didn't regret her words when she saw his smile returning on his lips and in his eyes. There was a ball of light and warmth growing in her chest and she couldn't do anything else than nod while tirelessly repeating "okay".

Tears were burning her eyes but she couldn't look away from his intense stare. Rain seemed to extinguish the fire they had started when they had left together to replace it with a radiant warmth. Lydia couldn't put words on what she was feeling. The firm resolutions she had taken the day before were melting like snow in the sun.

She eventually broke the spell they were under.

"Stiles, my feet are drowning in their shoes," she said, laughing.

He laughed softly without saying anything and they started to walk toward the still empty taxi station. They let their hands brush, touch and finally intertwined their fingers. Their eyes met and they both couldn't help smiling, electrified by the sensation.

Lydia suggested to look for a shelter but Stiles shook his head enigmatically and ran to cross the street. He stopped on the opposite sidewalk, took his soaked shoes off and waved at her to follow him. She hesitated a minute before taking them off.

She was surprised how hot the asphalt was burning. With this warmth and the raindrops being always bigger and hotter, it was like being out of this world. Maybe in a tropical country under the monsoon. She only had vague memories of the Californian sun and had only known since then the soft north European warmth. It was something else here. Something wilder maybe. In the middle of this downpour and wet warmth, she caught herself craving things she never thought she would. Andalusia, desert, scorching sun and burning ground. A breath of hot and dry air.

A genuine smile was stretching on her lips. She rose her head and saw Stiles, barefoot and euphoric in the puddles. It was definitely the expression she liked the most on him. Lydia shook her head and ran to meet him in the puddles.

It was exhilarating. Nothing mattered anymore, everything seemed unreal under this tropical rain. The ground was so hot that water kept evaporating bellow them, creating humidity and making their clothes stick to their skin. The only way to make this sensation bearable was to jump in the puddle to wet their clothes. Lydia could barely recognize herself but acting like a child was filling her with an infinite happiness.

They kept running while holding hands and burst out laughing whenever one of them was slipping, forcing the other one to regain balance for both of them.

At one point, Lydia stumbled and almost fell flat on her face if it wasn't for Stiles who had the reflex to catch her at the last second. She clumsily stood up with an embarrassed smile and clung to Stiles's forearm to cross a huge puddle. Once the obstacle was behind them, Lydia loosened her grip on Stiles but neither of them moved. Her gaze slowly went up his arm, torso, neck to finally meet his stare. She whispered _thank you_ and almost imperceptibly came closer with her eyes glued to his lips.

She felt Stiles hold his breath and suddenly felt like the 11-year-old Lydia who had no idea what to do with her body or with her emotions. She kissed him lightly at the corner of his lips, feeling bolder than she had been in years.

Stiles froze and looked at her mesmerized with a stupid grin on his lips.

A car hurtled past them and splashed them which eventually broke them out of their trance. They came back to reality and ran to the nearest subway station. Almost automatically, their hands found each other.

At the station, they were dripping so much that a security guard forbade them to get in. They sat on a bench to wait until they were dry enough and Stiles became very aware of what the rain had done to Lydia's clothes. She was gorgeous like that with her curves well defined, her make-up a little smudged and her hair darker than usual.

Realizing he was staring a little too long and feeling his neck and cheeks starting to burn, he looked away. His finger came up to absentmindedly brush the corner of his mouth where he had felt her lips on his and he smiled.

Lydia didn't miss his reaction and bit her lower lip to muffle her laugh. She came closer to him to lay her head on his shoulder and grab his arm. They remained speechless for a while, taking the time to absorb and relish those newborn emotions.

The time they got back to their hotel, they had forgotten they had to contact the Medical Examiner again for the autopsy analysis.

They bought popcorn and watched _Return of the Jedi_ in the king-sized bed. Halfway through it, Lydia fell asleep on Stiles's shoulder with a peaceful expression on her face. He didn't even consider getting angry or waking her up to remind her it was a masterpiece and that she had to pay attention. Instead, he finished the popcorn smiling and swearing to himself he would do everything in his power to help her fall asleep as peacefully every night.

Lydia woke up at the end of the movie to the soft feeling of Stiles's lips on the top of her head.

"Sorry to wake you up but you're starting to drool on my shirt," she heard him whisper.

She opened her eyes, feeling her heart beat a little too fast.

"What-"

Lydia straightened up with a start, checking the corner of her mouth with her fingers but stopped as soon as she saw Stiles giggling and looking at her with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

"I'm joking, the movie's over and I'm hungry…"

"Oh my god, you're such an ass!"

Stiles was slowly starting to sit up still softly laughing when Lydia threw a pillow at him, half chuckling. He turned around quickly and retaliated with a different pillow that Lydia caught and threw back at him. They went on like this until they ran out of pillows. The bedroom was a mess of fluffy pillows and sheets scattered around the floor. They eventually stopped, facing each other and kneeling on the mattress, trying to catch their breath between their laughter.

Seeing Lydia out of breath and genuinely smiling made Stiles bold. They were so close that it was too easy for him to reach out to tickle her. She laughed and leaned forward, trying to get a hold on his hands. The room was soon filled with their laughs once more, mixed with heavy breathing and some "Stiles, stop!" said without much conviction.

At one point, Lydia realized that their fight had brought them to a position where he was lying on top of her, between her legs with his hands trapping her own hands beside her head. Their laughs were starting to fade away. All Lydia could focus on was the dark, intoxicating shade of Stiles eyes, his chest moving hard at the same rhythm as her own and the growing heat of their bodies against each other.

Something in Stiles's eyes made her entire body shiver when his stare fell on her lips and she froze, realizing that all she had to do was lift her head a few inches to kiss him. He was breathing loudly through his parted lips, his breath caressing her mouth and neck. It was heady, she could feel the heavy beating of his heart against her chest and it made her subconsciously tighten her thigh around his waist.

Stiles closed his eyes at the feeling, almost letting his head fall on her shoulder. He was drowning himself in her, in the scent of her hair, in her presence underneath him, in the sounds she made when she was breathing erratically like that. But all the sudden, he felt Lydia's grip loosen around his hips, a small gasp escaping her lips. He opened his eyes and what he saw in her eyes made him come back to reality. He wasn't sure but it looked like panic or shock. He quickly let her arms go and sat back on his heels.

"I… I'm sorry," he mumbled with a hand going nervously through his hair and down his neck. "Are you… Are you okay? I really didn't mean to… I was just… I don't know what I was... I'm so sorry, Lydia, I never… I never wanted to put you in a situation where… I don't know…" He sighed, letting his hand fall down his side. "I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you."

"No, Stiles, please don't." She sat up, shaking her head. "I swear you didn't do anything wrong, it was me. I'm fine, I swear."

Something in the way Lydia looked at him, almost apologetically, told him that she really was sorry, that he hadn't done anything wrong.

"Okay." He continued, breathing a little better. "If I ever do something that makes you feel insecure, just… Just tell me or kick me in the nuts, okay?"

The atmosphere around them felt lighter and they both laughed softly underneath their breath.

"I will."

Lydia nodded and stood up, smiling quietly and still feeling the weight of his body on her belly and the warmth of his hands in her own.

"Are you… Are you hungry?" Stiles asked with something like concern in his voice. He was still feeling guilty and it made Lydia sick. He really hadn't done anything wrong but Lydia needed some time alone to understand the panic she had felt in her entire body.

"I'm fine, go ahead."

Stiles nodded, looking down before whispering a soft "'kay".

He stood up and stopped at the door, turning around to look at her. "I'm just gonna buy some stuff at the grocery store across the street. I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Okay." Lydia could see that he was hesitant to leave her alone. He had opened the door but kept playing with the doorknob. She understood what was going through his mind. The last time he had left her alone, she had had a mental breakdown. So she spoke out "Stiles, I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

He waited a few seconds, biting his lips and eventually nodded and closed the door behind him.

When she heard the slam of the door, Lydia let herself fall on the naked mattress, her mind devoid of any thoughts. What had just happened? It all happened so fast she had trouble figuring out how they had found themselves in a situation where all she could think about was how Stiles's lips would taste.

But this bliss had vanished the second he had closed his eyes. Those gorgeous amber eyes that had become her entire universe. The only place where she could lose herself without fearing anything, the only place that felt like home. And yet, her body had betrayed herself in those eyes. She couldn't lose the control over her body, it was too dangerous. She wasn't sure why, especially with him but the mere thought of not knowing what she was doing was tightening her entire chest. It happened to her too often and it was scary, who knows who or what was taking control over her… She felt this strong pull toward Stiles, she wanted more than anything to let herself go, be a little selfish for once and live. But was it worth it? Was _she_ worth it? She wasn't always herself; her thoughts weren't always her thoughts. She couldn't hurt Stiles, she wouldn't hurt him, and he was far too precious now.

She hadn't forgotten the need she had felt to protect him under the rain earlier.

Besides, it had been so long since the last time she had let herself function like any other human being that she had no idea how she would do it again.

She felt herself spiral down her usual well of unanswered questions and started to feel nauseous just like she had felt on the Lacrosse field so long ago. Control. It was all about control. If she agreed to leave with him to Andalusia, she had to keep control over herself and over her body.

But now wasn't the time to think about that. Stiles would be back any time soon and she had promised him she was fine. She stood up and cleaned the room, picking the pillows and the sheets to make the bed.

Tomorrow. She would think about that tomorrow.

For now, she allowed herself to smile at the memory of the day, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding a pillow tight against her heart. It smelled like him.

xxxxxxxx

Their breakfast the next morning was eaten in silence.

The night hadn't helped Lydia with her constant questioning. She tried to look at it from another angle.

Control was about rationality and she was ordinarily someone rational, she kept a good distance from her emotions to make sure she could properly analyse them. In all logic, her behaviour from the day before was a bug in her perfect system.

The more she thought about it, the more she had the impression of seeing scenes from a cheesy movie unfolding before her eyes. It aggravated her. Since when was Lydia Martin one of those girls whose only goal in life was to find the ultimate love? She had to pull herself together.

Unless it was an update. In which case she had to learn the rules applying here.

"Did you know that if a mosquito's bite is itching, it's actually because you're allergic to it?"

"What?"

Stiles pulled her from her thought and was looking at her while trying and failing to open his boiled eggs without getting it all over the table.

"Mosquitos…"

He bent down to catch a piece of egg shell that had fallen down.

"The bite isn't actually itching. What hurts is in fact the reaction of your body trying to protect itself against the attack. Crazy, right? I mean… We had it all wrong when we thought people who got bitten had a sweeter blood than the others. I was so proud of my sweet blood… Turns out I'm just allergic!"

Lydia laughed through her breath despite herself. Stiles had stayed focused on his eggs during his entire explanation and she couldn't help but observe him with an amused smile. How could she believe she would be able to stay ice-cold with him when everything he did made her feel so warm and alive?

Silence stretched out a little, meanwhile Stiles insulted his eggs every other second.

"Do you still wanna-"

He didn't finish his sentence. He had no idea whether he should ask her the question or not. Stiles knew very well that they had both acted in a highly emotional state the day before and he wasn't sure if their resolution was still in her mind.

"What, Stiles?"

"-leave? D'you still wanna leave?"

He watched her from the corner of his eyes.

Lydia straightened up instantly, figuring that the same questions that were looping in her head must have been in his too. She took her time to decide on the strategy to adopt and eventually decided for honesty.

"I don't know. I'm still struggling to understand everything that happened. I'm not the kind of person who acts like this. I analyse, I think and then I take action. Since I met you…"

She sighed, she couldn't find the right words and paused to look at this boy with a ridiculous name and mesmerizing amber eyes, wondering if maybe they were the reason why her mind was constantly devoid of any word. Maybe it was the price to pay to drown in them. A little of her intelligence against a few seconds somewhere outside the world. Truth be told, she actually didn't really mind.

"And you?" she resumed after a few seconds. "Do you?"

Stiles considered the question a little while, remembering the day before and feeling the same panic that had taken hold of him resurface. Maybe their decision was irrational but never would he put Lydia in the same position again. He remembered finding her in that train station and felt a shiver down his spine. No… This wasn't an option, it wasn't opened for discussion. But at the same time, he understood what she was trying to say. Lydia Martin didn't let herself be guided by her emotions. She wasn't that kind of person. He had to play smart.

"Yeah… I think I do, yes. Lydia look, I get what you mean but consider it from a different perspective. When was your last vacation?"

"Well… That's… an excellent question…"

"Then just consider it like a vacation! One week in the sun to celebrate your Fields Medal. The beach, the sea, shellfish, basking in the sun, eating ice-cream… When the week is over, we can resume the resea– "

"Yeah, okay," she said hurriedly and cutting him off. She knew what he was going to say. He was going to talk about Peter again and she would let other emotions overwhelm her. "Let's go then," she continued after a few seconds, "Now. I'll take care of the organization and reservations. I'm never setting foot in another hotel like the ones you found us."

She absolutely had to take control of the situation again, and organizing the travel was the best solution. It didn't require any emotion.

She tried to put as much as contempt as she could in her last words but given his delighted smile, she figured she must have said it wrong, more teasingly maybe. Who was she kidding anyway… She wanted this.

Lydia stood up, setting her jaw to try to regain her composure. She headed toward the stairs leading to the rooms mumbling something about the suitcases.

Stiles kept smiling.

* * *

 _How did it happen? How could it happen to him? Those kinds of things happened to others, to weak people but not him…_

 _This renewed energy he had been feeling for days suddenly failed him at the worst moment. He was fighting, savouring the taste of blood and flesh in his mouth when something or someone hit him in his back. It surprised him even more that he hadn't felt any presence behind him._

 _He was already groggy when his opponent jumped on him, he didn't have the strength to push him back. He wanted to fight back, but his muscles were failing him. Something sharp gashed his stomach and the weakest howl of pain left his throat. His back hit the coldness of a wall behind him and everything turned black._

 _A moment later – or was it hours? – his eyes opened. He crawled to escape this place but he was losing a lot of blood and could feel now the presence of something evil around him, cutting his lips, hands, shoulders with its claws. After a few minutes of crawling the fastest he could and growling from pain, he realized he was lost in this maze and had no idea where to go. Each time he took an alley that seemed to lead toward an exit, he found himself lost deeper in the maze. It was a nightmare. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and it was scaring him to no end. He could die in this hole…_

 _He stood up on shaky legs which only resulted on making him dizzy and bleed faster. Trying to summon up his strength, he closed his eyes to regain balance and howled the loudest he could to scare his opponent. His legs failed him after a few steps and he ended up crawling again, begging for mercy with the salty taste of his tears mixed with the bitterness of blood in his mouth._

 _He eventually found the exit, he could leave this dark alley to go out on the street but was too scared. With jittery gesture, he turned around, trying to spot his opponent but there was no one behind him. Crawling closer to the wall, he managed somehow to sit up against it, feeling its coldness against his open wound and wincing with pain._

 _Breathing was causing him sharp pain in his entire ribcage. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on something else to make his pulse return to normal._

 _It's only hours later that he noticed the huge puddle he was sitting in. He had blacked out and was now freezing to the bones. The cold water had soaked him, seeping through his skin._

 _The moon was nowhere to be seen in the cloudy dark sky and an icy wind was roaring in his ears, making him wince each time he shivered. He blacked out again, failing to understand what could have happened._


	8. The taste of strawberry jam

Once Lydia had retreated to their room, Stiles took his time to finish breakfast. He knew she needed time alone to process all of this. He went to the reception to pay for their night and ask for tourist information about Andalusia.

A little less than an hour later, he went back to their room to find Lydia sprawled on the bed, going through her phone to find somewhere they could afford for an entire week. She lifted her head when she heard the door opening and smiled at him.

"I think I found a nice place, not too expensive but close enough from the city centre in Granada," she said sitting up.

She had tried to speak with the most casual tone possible but the truth was that it had been a nightmare to find a place for a very specific reason: the number of bedrooms. Should they share one or was it inappropriate? She had volunteered for this, thinking that planning would help her clear her mind and take control over everything again but answering this question was maybe taking a little too much control.

Obviously, taking one bedroom made sense because they had been doing that a lot and it was always cheaper. But she had clearly implied that _she_ would choose their hotel so they would stay somewhere fancier, more comfortable. And when friends were travelling together, more comfortable meant two bedrooms.

Problem was that Lydia wanted not only to share a bedroom with Stiles, she wanted to share a bed with him and she was pretty positive that he wouldn't mind either. But she had to find a logical reason why they would share a bed. She couldn't just tell him that she craved his warm presence next to her, his steady arms around her waist and his nose buried in her hair. It was irrational how safe and happy he made her feel.

It scared her because it wasn't logical and therefore, she had zero control over it.

On the other hand, she wanted to change, take the leap. That's why she had accepted Stiles's offer in the first place.

And after what had felt like a century, the solution appeared: two single beds next to each other in one bedroom.

So, when Stiles opened the door and looked at her with his beautiful eyes and ruffled hair, she tried to remember that she couldn't tell him everything that had went through her mind.

She patted the bed next to her to make him sit down and showed him a perfect apartment located on one of the hills in the city with a huge kitchen and a nice terrace with a stunning view over Granada and the mountains behind.

"See," she continued, "it's gorgeous, we would have the entire apartment for ourselves and it's not that expensive. The only thing is that we'll share a bedroom…"

Stiles was looking at the pictures on her phone, trying not to pay attention to Lydia next to him who was watching closely to his reaction. She saw him shuddering slightly and maybe blush a little before answering.

"Fine by me."

He gave her her phone back and smiled. His face was too close to hers to allow her to cover her sudden blush so she looked back at her phone, biting her lips and started to make the reservation.

xxxxxxxx

They arrived late at night, tired but happy. Their struggles and questions were so far away that it was almost like they belonged to another life. The apartment smelled like vacation and summer: a mix of sweetness, flowers and sun cream.

It was dark outside but there was a nice warm breeze. Their faces were bathed in the light of the stars that illuminated a cloudless sky. Lydia couldn't tear her eyes off of Stiles's pale features, the cold light accentuating the warmth of his eyes. He seemed so calm it was hypnotising. She let her gaze be caught by Stiles and they wordlessly smiled at each other. Despite their tiredness, they sat on the terrace and stayed a little while, enjoying this soothing serenity in silence before going to bed.

The got back inside after a little while and Lydia froze when she opened their bedroom door. The owner must have changed something without warning them because this wasn't a room with two single beds but a room with one and only one king-sized bed. She felt Stiles staring at the bed behind her and slowly turned around. She was about to open her mouth to offer him an explanation when he spoke.

"I can sleep on the couch if you want."

Her stomach dropped and her tiredness made her react quicker than if she had been fully awake.

"No, it's fine. It's big enough to share."

Falling asleep facing each other like it was the most normal thing in the world was overwhelming for Stiles after everything that had happened. Lydia drifted off first after whispering _good night_ underneath her breath and it was all of a sudden like they had been doing this their entire life. No dread, no evil werewolves, nothing was waiting for them when the sun would rise. They had all the time in the world to figure things out and it felt like paradise.

Somehow, this scene seemed to belong to another Stiles and Lydia. A Stiles and Lydia who would maybe text each other constantly, who would spend a week far away from their jobs and order take-out every night because they would stay in bed naked and curled up in each other all day long. A Stiles and Lydia who wouldn't know anything about the supernatural, who would live the most normal and boring life possible. They would be happy anyway. How couldn't they be? Stiles was sure that they would always find their way back to each other and be happy. Whatever the universe they would live in.

Having her so close to him felt right. Her fingers were barely an inch away from his face and Stiles had to stop himself from taking them in his hands. He shut his eyes and fell asleep within minutes.

xxxxxxxx

Lydia woke up at 6AM with Stiles's warm hand against hers. She took a few minutes to fully wake up, taking his figure in. His face was buried in his pillow, his bare back slowly rising. He seemed so peaceful it made her chest tighten with the simplest joy.

She stood up carefully to avoid waking him up. Losing the contact of her hand made him groan softly and turn in his sleep. Lydia smiled, got dressed quickly and went outside on the terrace.

The morning sky was gorgeous with its thousand blue, orange and pink shades. The sun was slowly rising. It was already warm but it was still bearable. On the tree next to her, birds were already singing. They were the only ones already awake to witness the dazzlingly beauty of nature with her. The city was still asleep and quiet.

In the tranquillity of the early morning, Lydia found herself alone to face the questions looping in her head. She was taken back to the day she had received the Field's Medal and wondered what had happened to her since then. She was in Granada, unemployed, with someone she barely knew in high school. She was in an empty space that she could fill with whatever she wanted. It was like being on the verge of a precipice and it scared her.

But she had to admit that staring right into the abyss was less scary with Stiles. He brought her peace and warmth, steadying her when she was leaning too far over the emptiness.

Lydia had already realized that Stiles was anchoring her to the world but what she was starting to perceive was that maybe, she was helping him too. She didn't know how yet but there was a difference in his eyes, in the way he peacefully fell asleep since they had decided to take a week off that gave her a reason to try to control what was happening to her. She had to be able to pull him back when he needed her help. Just like he had pulled her back hundreds of time.

This empty space was _theirs_ to fill. She needed to bring something of her own, allow herself to simply _be_. But what did she have to offer except her dark thoughts? Without them, she was as empty as the monster from her nightmares. They were practically her whole life. Who was she without this darkness inside of her?

Her chest tightened again and it wasn't with the joy she had felt earlier. She started pacing on the terrace. What more did she need to fight against those thoughts? It was sunny, warm, the birds were singing and the view was stunning… She felt herself spiral down again.

Stiles.

She needed Stiles.

She got back into the apartment and nervously opened the door to their bedroom. The sight of him, still peacefully sleeping loosened the knot in her chest a little. He was sleeping on his left side and it would be so easy to crawl back in the sheets and fit inside his embrace with her head in the crook of his neck.

But she couldn't. She would eventually destroy him, drag him down with her in her emptiness. Problems never went away just because you decided to look in another direction. She had to face the void inside her to find her own strength. She couldn't use him as a weapon. He deserved better. Then and only then she would maybe consider the idea of letting him in.

She quietly closed the door and wrote a note to Stiles.

 _I woke up early and went for a walk. I didn't want to wake you. Please don't worry, everything's fine, I'm fine. I just wanted to explore the city. I'll come back with breakfast._

She hesitated. How was she supposed to sign? Just _Lydia_ sounded too harsh and _Love you, Lydia_ was maybe a little too much. After two or three minutes standing motionless above the table with the pen in her hand, she figured that she didn't need to write _Lydia_ because he knew she was the only one here anyway. So, she just went for a smiley face. It gave a lighter note to it and it was affectionate but not too much.

She sighed. It was ridiculous, _she_ was being ridiculous. She almost started it over but decided to leave it alone because she could spend hours on this note and she had more important things to do. She put her shoes on, took her purse and left.

That sounded like a plan: first, find a strength that would give her control over herself and second, come back to Stiles. It was like a to-do list, easy and organized. She liked that.

At this hour, the streets were still really quiet and empty. The sun was hitting too hard on her pale skin and hurt her eyes. She would need sunglasses and a hat if they stayed the entire week. She could start another to-do list. And sun cream, they would need sun cream. Simple considerations like that were filling her with a sense of normality she was craving. It felt good.

She decided to leave the main streets to take smaller ones where cars weren't allowed. She entered the old city area where the alleys were all tortuous and paved. They were so narrow that she was able to touch each wall when she stood with her arms wide opened.

But, she wasn't suffocating, she didn't feel trapped thanks to the warm colours surrounding her. The walls were made out of beige stones. Red, orange and yellow flowers were decorating the windows and the tall buildings were allowing her to walk in their shadow.

The left wall was cold against her fingers and a delightful fresh breeze was caressing her skin. She had quickly done her hair in a bun on the top of her head and some strands were dancing in the breeze, tickling the nape of her neck and her cheeks. She could also feel the wind playing with her white dress against her bare legs.

People were starting to open their windows, taking advantage of the early hour to make fresh air come inside their homes. Lydia figured that it would certainly be the only time of the day when people would open their windows. After that, they would live in the shadow to keep their houses as cool as possible. She marvelled at the thought that it was only in those extreme conditions that people were truly living with the nature. They accepted its laws and it gave them control over their own lives. It made more sense living like this. They wanted a cool house? They had to wake up early. They had to wake up early? They should go to sleep early and they had to plan their entire day according to this. They knew how this worked and knew exactly what they could control.

And as always, knowledge was power.

Maybe that was a key. She had to find what she could control and what she couldn't.

Loud voices made her break out of her thoughts. Kids were complaining in Spanish in one of the houses and it made her smile. Whatever the language, kids complained everywhere and always with the same voice inflections. It strangely soothed her. This was life. For those people, it was just another day. She could jump in whenever she wanted.

At the end of the alley, she saw a larger street on her left. It was so orientated that it was still in the shadow and some bakery and café were starting to open. Smell of fresh baked bread and coffee invaded her senses. Her stomach started to growl but now wasn't the time to stop somewhere. She wanted to keep walking until her brain found a way to create serotonin without Stiles.

She went right in another narrow alley. A man in his pyjamas was standing in front of a closed window. He was begging someone on the other side of the window to open to him. He sensed a presence in the alley and turned his head toward Lydia. He smiled at her with an embarrassed grin when she passed by him. Lydia nodded and he turned back to the window to resume his begging.

She tried to muffle her laugh and kept walking.

In the distance, she started to hear the sound of water, surely a fountain. It made her realized how thirsty she was and how the stones under her flat and thin shoes were hurting her feet. The prospect of fresh water down her dry throat and on her hot skin made her shiver with anticipation. She quickened her pace.

At the end of the alley was a small square with a fountain in the middle with a stone bench all around and a café terrace that wasn't opened yet. The fountain was protected from the sun by a tall tree with purple leaves. Lydia's knowledge on trees was really basic and she had no idea what it was but it was beautiful.

The water wasn't potable but she sat on the bench next to the tree and plunged her hands in. The tree shadow had protected the water from the heat and she couldn't muffle the moan that formed in her throat at the temperature difference. She poured water down her arms and on her neck, closing her eyes at the delicious sensation. She sighed, exhaling from pleasure when she felt droplets under her dress running down her back, reaching her waist, ass and thigh. If she focused strong enough on her body, she could feel the shivers and goose bumps the cold water was leaving in its trail. She took her shoes off to wet her feet and legs. She could have stayed hours like this, enjoying something as simple as cold water in the heat.

She folded her legs on the bench, her shoes on the ground and her right hand in the water. She was absently looking at what looked like a piece of a plastic cup floating in the fountain. She was feeling better already. Something was buzzing in her skin, inside of her. She couldn't put a finger on it yet but it was exhilarating. Time seemed to dilate itself and she lost herself in this feeling. She didn't realize that people were starting to open the café, throwing her interrogatory glances.

Her right hand came to rest against her temple, sending another chill down her body when the cold water touched her skin. She closed her eyes at the sensation and opened them again. Her fixed stare focused on the waves in the water that were spreading at regular intervals, giving to the bit of plastic hypnotizing movements.

Without paying much attention, she calculated the frequency of each wave and the velocity ratio of the floating plastic.

There was a certain beauty in the assurance that despite everything that could happen, laws of science would always remain the same. Her environment was stable. The existence of the supernatural didn't question the physical laws that governed the universe. The primeval conditions were constantly evolving since the big bang but the laws had always remained. Gravity. Evolution. Death. She was standing on a solid ground. A ground she had learned to understand since she was able to observe and think by herself. Why had she forgotten about that? How?

She lost herself in the memories of a very young Lydia who had read something about the divine proportion in a book about Ancient Egypt and had spent months trying to find it in all the shapes she saw in the nature or in arts.

Shapes had mesmerized her during years, and she drove her mother crazy. There was even a time where she would only dress in clothes with fractal patterns.

She smiled, plunging her hand in the water again to create more waves. Conditions were evolving but she was still able to calculate the velocity ratio of the former plastic cup.

Diverting her eyes from the water, she stared at the tree beside her, looking for fractal features on its branches and leaves.

It was a strange sensation that was spreading through her body. When she was spiralling down her emptiness, knots were forming in her chest and her skin tightened, forcing her entire being to shrink. Almost to the point where she would turn invisible to others, where she would rub out her identity to fit into the small and standardized frame that society had built.

This time, it was the exact opposite. She felt a force inside of her that softened her skin, allowing her being to shine and grow. Her body, her own skin didn't feel like a prison. Like something unfamiliar she had to control: it was a part of her, it was _her_.

She wasn't fooling herself. She knew that this blissful state of mind wouldn't last but it gave her hope, it was a part of the solution and nobody would take that knowledge away from her. Not when she had put her finger on it. The solution was here, she could see it, feel it.

Slowly unfolding her legs and standing up, she realized that there were so many things she could control. She could calculate the incline of the ground under her feet or the forces that made the gravel roll when she was touching it with the tip of her shoe. The approximate number of windows in the area around her and the number of stones in the street.

She was bigger than that, she wanted to take up as much place as she could. It was filling her with a sense of stability and self-confidence that felt good and warm.

She took the first street on the right after the fountain and a book shop specialized in science caught her eyes. After a few seconds of standing in front of it, she pushed the door open. She spent maybe an hour going through the shelves and ended up buying a book about the divine proportion that she would use to learn more Spanish and the latest edition of a magazine in English about science discoveries in mathematics that mentioned her work about Riemann Hypothesis.

Outside, the heat was still bearable but had already increased. The loose strands of her hair were slightly sticking to the nape of her neck with sweat. The shops were all opened by now and the streets were busier. It wasn't as intimate as it had been and her stomach growled again when she passed by a bakery. It was time to go back.

She found a small market in a narrow street and bought some eggs, slices of bacon, oranges, coffee, fresh baked bread and vegetables like tomatoes, red bell peppers and eggplants. She couldn't resist buying some pastries, already picturing Stiles's smile at the sight of those huge turnovers filled with Dulce de leche.

The market's atmosphere with its smells, colours and foreign languages was making her happy. Genuinely happy. Life could be so easy if she wanted to.

Back at the apartment, she noticed that her note was gone. It could only mean one thing: Stiles was up and had seen it. She realized in horror that it also meant he had seen the smiley face at the end... She closed her eyes, sighing in embarrassment and heard the shower. At least, he wasn't immediately there and if she hurried to cook their breakfast, maybe he would have forgotten about it.

She started to unpack what she had bought to make her mind busy and forget about the awkwardness of the situation.

She started to press the oranges to make fresh orange juice and cooked fried eggs with bacon for Stiles, keeping the vegetables to make an omelette. The owners of the apartment had left three handmade jams for them, and they all smelled delicious so she toasted some slices of bread.

To Lydia, cooking was a chore. It was something she had to learn and had to do every day. She never considered cooking as a way to relieve stress. It wasn't as logical as it appears because Lydia enjoyed good meals and it happened too often that the cooking recipe wasn't enough to actually cook a good meal. You had to put your soul in it, to improvise and it wasn't in Lydia's nature. Cooking frustrated her more than anything.

But cooking for two was something else and she surprised herself by actually enjoying it. Like earlier by the fountain, she let this feeling sink deep inside of her without trying to understand it. It was here and it felt good. That was all that mattered.

"I thought I heard you come home, smiley face."

Lydia didn't have to turn around to know that Stiles was smirking, his amused voice gave him away. She stayed focused on her pan, trying hard to erase the embarrassed blush on her cheeks. She smiled and shook her head.

"You're hilarious, Stiles."

"Yeah, I know. But that's part of my charm, right?"

She heard him come closer, he must have washed his hair because she could see a towel moving from the corner of her eyes and smell the scent of his shampoo. The same she would regularly find – and maybe look for – on his pillow.

"Thanks for the breakfast, it smells good. Next time's on me."

"I didn't do much, I just –" She turned around and the sight of Stiles's bare chest with a towel running through his hair made her forget what she wanted to say. The only ridiculous thing she could think about was that she could surely find some divine proportions on Stiles: his nose, shoulders, fingers, hands, chest, in the way his arm muscles were tensing, anywhere really. She bit her tongue to avoid asking him if she could take his body measurements and tried to get her thoughts back on track.

"It's really just eggs, bacon and vegetables." She stopped, nervously tying loose strands in her bun and cleared her throat. "But I have nothing against the idea of you cooking for me, just so you know."

Her voice was still a little husky and she had said it so casually that Stiles felt goose bumps on his forearms. Just like when they had fallen asleep, Stiles was struck by this feeling of domesticity that seemed to settle so easily between them.

If he wasn't so afraid of how she could react, he would step even closer, slide his hand in her hair and take her cherry red lips in his mouth to kiss her deeply with his other hand grabbing her waist and fisting her dress so tight it would ride up along her thigh until it would slowly reach her panties.

He gulped, trying to put on some sort of composed face but he wasn't fooling anyone and Lydia must have noticed something because she smiled with such warmth and rosy cheeks that Stiles had to lean against the counter behind him to help his weakening knees.

Lydia eventually broke the increasing tension.

"I'm almost done." She cleared her throat and turned around, somehow finding her willpower again. "Will you set the table outside?"

"Yeah." He said in a low voice, clearing his throat as well.

They ate under the shadow of the big tree on the terrace. Its leaves had still an intense green shade despite the sun. A sweet and soothing scent heightened by the warm breeze emanated from big white flowers that were blossoming here and there on the tree.

Stiles asked her some questions about what she had done so early in the morning. She told him about the books she bought and it turned out Stiles knew what divine proportions and fractal features were. After that, Lydia couldn't contain the excited nerd inside of her anymore and they analysed everything around them together.

She felt so happy and in control she even said something about his nose. He smiled, took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

They kept on talking about whatever came to their mind while finishing breakfast, only stopping once in a while to sip their coffee or blowing on it from the tip of their lips. In those quiet moments, they would let themselves be engulfed by the sounds surrounding them. The birds, the distant church bell, the noisy trucks and the lilting voices of people passing by.

Stiles had to get back inside to toast some more bread because they were eating so slowly it had turned cold. He came back with slices of bread and butter with strawberry jam and a big smile on his face. Lydia raised an interrogatory eyebrow at him.

"Why are you so happy about jam?"

"Because I noticed that you usually don't like it and you still toasted bread. Which means you made it for me and it makes me happy." He put down the plate on the table and sat down, still staring at Lydia with a smirk and waiting for a reaction.

"Maybe I also wanted to try it because this one's homemade," she said, laying stress on the _homemade_ and taking a bite in one of the bread slices.

She was slowly chewing, afraid of finding that disgusting fake-sweet taste. It wasn't a lie; this jam did smell delicious and she wanted to try it but the sweet taste still could make her feel sick. But it didn't, it was actually really good.

"What, Stilinski?" she asked with her hand over her mouth.

He was still grinning at her and Lydia couldn't properly eat when people were staring at her. He took his eyes off of her to grab a bread slice and take a bite.

"All I heard was _also_."

Lydia tried to bite back her laugh but failed to cover her smile. She stared at him, her lips in a thin line that deepened her dimples.

"Just eat."

Stiles shook his head, still grinning.

"Yes, ma'am."

In sixty years, when Lydia is on her death-bed, she knew she would remember this exact moment. This moment when the taste of strawberry jam ceased to be linked to her childhood, ceased to remind her how much she lost. All the pain and suffering that came with her relentless pursuit of any sense of belonging.

The taste of strawberry jam blended with the taste and smell of fresh toasted bread, the soft warmth and the sun that illuminated Granada with a light full of life and that reflected small flecks of honey in Stiles's eyes. She could feel her senses stirring up one by one, anchoring her feet to the ground and helping her soul to expand as much as she wanted.

Maybe that was it. Maybe this was happiness: the ability to turn bad things into good ones with new and fresh memories. Better ones.

Despite her will to find happiness on her own first, she knew deep down it had something to do with this enigmatic boy in front of her who stared at her like he had always known her, like he could read in her eyes everything she tried to hide. It didn't matter much. If she had to learn how to be happy, she might as well start here and now. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she thought.

After that, Lydia stopped asking herself so many questions and the week flew past too quickly. Stiles couldn't take his eyes off of her. He had never seen her like that. It was like she had finally accepted the idea of letting him see through her walls and he couldn't be more grateful.

They spent the week eating, going for walks, chatting around glasses of wine and sangria, sleeping until noon and going to bed as late as they wanted. No alarm clock, no phones to bother them.

Sometimes, in the evening, Lydia would read at loud some articles about Riemann Hypothesis in the magazine she had bought to criticise it or explain things to Stiles. It always went above his head but he listened to her anyway. He would kiss her on the brain if he could because it was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. Her brain mesmerized him by its complex beauty, its ability to understand things that went beyond anyone's imagination. Of course, it didn't hurt that she had those full lips, always perfectly red that she would slightly nibble whenever she would try to find a way to make things easier to understand for him. Or this spark of excitement in her emerald green eyes.

Lydia would read until Stiles would stop asking questions and fall asleep. Sometimes with his head on her shoulder with his nose against her collarbone and his warm breath against her skin. Sometimes with his head on her lap.

It was simple and Lydia loved that. One night, as Stiles was slightly snoring on her lap, she couldn't resist the urge to run her fingers through his soft hair. He sighed in his sleep, adjusting his head higher on her lap and Lydia smiled. She could get used to it.

But unfortunately, the spectre of the end of the week was looming over their heads, drawing always nearer. They both tried to push back that thought as far away as they could but time never stopped going by.

Lydia knew it was up to her. Whatever would happen next would be her decision. They had arrived on a Monday and had decided to leave the next Monday. It was Saturday and Lydia hadn't made any decision.

In the afternoon, they visited the Alhambra. They were walking quietly in the crowded palace with their heads full of heavy thoughts. They stopped, sitting on a bench in the shadows of the arcades facing a long pool surrounded by jet water and palm trees.

"I can't believe we're here, in one of the last places bearing witness to an important age of Spanish history and I – " Lydia sighed, shaking her head and looking around. "I mean, look, it's gorgeous! And all I can think about is that we have this huge decision to make."

She felt Stiles's stare on her and turned to look at him.

"Stiles, I… I can't. I can't decide."

"It's okay." He slid his hand in her hair and she felt the brush of his lips on her temple. She sighed and moved closer to him to lay her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, breathing him in and feeling her anxiety slowly fly away.

"Let's finish up here and we'll talk about it later, okay?"

He was whispering in her hair while rubbing her arm. Lydia could stay like that forever but she eventually nodded.

Lydia decided to bring the subject up again on their way back to the apartment after half an hour of talking about anything but that. It was hard to dive back in after a week spent somewhere safe from the world, safe from time. It was like closing their eyes right before a collision and opening them again to find that the collision hadn't happened yet.

They went to bed and faced each other with burning eyes and their fingers intertwined. They had spoken for hours, debating on what they wanted to do and what they should do. Just saying Peter's name was chilling Lydia to the bone and made it impossible for her to think properly. They still hadn't made any decision.

But here, facing Stiles in the quiet darkness of their bedroom, Lydia wanted nothing but stay there for all eternity. She drifted off, barely feeling Stiles's lips on the corner of her eyelid.

For the first time in the week, she had her nightmare again.

But it didn't wake her up.

It was the sun penetrating in the bedroom that slowly woke her up. The sheets were cold beside her. Stiles wasn't there and it made her chest tighten but the smile returned on her face the second she smelt pancakes.

She quickly stood up, hesitated a few seconds in front of his hoodie and put it on. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw that her sleeping shorts disappeared under the hoodie. It made her smile and she ran her fingers through her hair to give it some body.

She went down the stairs and found Stiles busy in the kitchen.

"It's the second morning in a row that pancake smell wakes me up. I'm gonna get used to it, you know."

Her voice startled Stiles who turned around quickly and almost dropped his pan.

"Wow, Lydia you – " he was staring at her, mouth agape and unable to find any word to describe what seeing her in his hoodie with her ruffled hair and the mark of the pillow on her right cheek made him feel. He ran his hand through his hair and tried to clear his mind. "You know, I think I have the same one…" he laughed, pointing at his hoodie with the spatula he had in his hand. "But it looks way better on you than on me."

"Does it?" she asked with a teasing smile while tying it up above her navel as well as she could. "I don't know, maybe it's too long."

"Yeah," Stiles gulped. "Definitely better."

He lost himself in the sight of the skin above her shorts, picturing how warm it must still be, how soft it would feel under his palm… Lydia took his chin in her fingers and broke him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," he smiled. "You look really beautiful, you know?"

Lydia smirked and kissed him on the cheek before hopping on the kitchen counter beside him.

"Thanks."

"So," he cleared his throat and resumed what he was doing. "How did you sleep?"

She didn't reply immediately, trying to steal a pancake from Stiles who pretended to hit her hand with the spatula. All of a sudden, she remembered her nightmare and froze.

"Hey, hey, Lydia, what's wrong?"

Stiles tried to make her look at him but she seemed completely dazed

"Lydia, talk to me, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I – " she finally fixed her stare on his eyes. "I had a good night's sleep, a really good one." She got quiet a few seconds and turned her head. "What time is it?"

"Mmh... Almost noon, why? Are you sure you're alright?"

Her smile was so big it almost hurt. For a moment, she thought she was going to throw herself in his arms and kiss him until she couldn't breathe anymore but she stopped herself and blurted out a laugh that was as clear as a bell and she almost didn't recognize it as her own.

Stiles was staring at her without understanding what was going on but found himself smiling with her.

"I had a good night's sleep, Stiles! A good night! Do you realize?"

She caught hold of his shirt and arm, still staring right into his amber eyes. Her laugh threatened to turn into sobs so she nibbled her lower lip to stifle them.

"Stiles, I… I had a nightmare and it didn't wake me up. I don't think that had ever happened."

"Wait, really?" He came closer to her, his waist brushing her knee and ran his thumb on her cheek to wipe away a few tears. "That's awesome, Lydia!"

"The man, the… The thing…" she caught the hand he had on her cheek to keep it in place. "I think I was able to defend myself and maybe even knock him out. _Me_. I knocked _him_ out… I'm not sure, it's a little blurry but I made it out and it's the first time!"

Still smiling, Stiles came closer until he was trapped between her legs with his other hand on her waist.

"Do you think it means something?"

She shrugged and shook her head, unable to stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. She fisted his shirt to make him come closer, needing his warmth all around her.

"I have no idea… The entire week was perfect." She bit her lips again, losing herself in memories and laughed softly. "I was so happy and didn't think about him once. I think I only had the nightmare because we spoke about Peter yesterday. Without that…" She stopped and resumed in a strangled voice. "I'm not sure I would have had any nightmare."

Stiles wiped her tears away one more time before taking a firmer hold on her waist with both hands, the warm skin under his fingers making him want more. He was happier than ever. It had never crossed his mind that a way for her to get rid of her nightmares and of Peter was to stop thinking about them. Could it be that simple?

He didn't say a thing, contenting himself with staring at her starry-eyed and with surely what must have been the most stupid look on his face. It was like witnessing a rebirth. _She_ really was here, in front of him. His Lydia. The one that didn't feel the need to hide behind masks and who wasn't swallowed by mourning and vengeance.

Lydia was waiting for a reaction and pulled at his shirt to wake him up.

"Stiles, say something!"

"I – "

"You know what?" She cut him off, too excited to restrain herself. Ideas were rushing through her head. "I think I read in the article I told you about the other night that in a few days, there will be a conference in Poland – in Warsaw if I remember correctly – with some of the researchers who worked on a project that could have destroyed mine if it hadn't been that good…" she had said it in one breath, looking anywhere but in Stiles's eyes that weren't leaving her face. She laughed through her nose and smirked before glancing at his eyes. "I'd like to go there… Taunt them a little."

He was taken by surprise and stepped back a little.

"But – "

She pulled him back and threw her arms around his neck.

"Stiles, you told me that after a week I could decide: you leave me alone or we go after Peter again, right?" She loosened her grip a little, feeling suddenly nervous by his lack of reaction.

"Yes?"

"Well, what if…" she fisted his shirt and looked down at her hands, lowering her voice as if she was afraid of what could come out of her mouth. "What if we choose option three?"

"Op… Option three?"

Stiles was fumbling for words. He never knew how to shut up and now he couldn't speak out more than one syllable at a time. No one rendered him speechless like Lydia did.

"Yeah." She looked up to meet his gaze and his warm smile gave her the strength she needed to articulate her thoughts. "We stop running after a ghost and you could come with me to Poland?" Her heart was beating way too fast. Why was it making her nervous? She was fidgeting with her fingers and chewing her lips. Stiles was still looking at her with his warm smile and she didn't know what to do with that.

"Stiles?"

He didn't understand why her voice wasn't as steady as it should be, why it was tainted with worry and concern to the point that it quivered when she said his name. Was she afraid that he would reject her?

He took her fingers in his hands and wrapped her in his arms again, putting his hands back on her waist and moving her closer from the edge of the counter. He felt Lydia's cheek on his collarbone and buried his nose in her hair. She had one hand behind his neck and the other one was still holding his shirt. He could smell the scent or her shampoo and the scent of the sheets on her warm skin. It was mind-boggling how she could make him lose any sense of reality just by existing. He was consumed by her simple existence. They stayed like that a little while, enjoying the warmth and erratic beating of each other's heart.

"Stiles?"

Her voice was steadier, it made him come back to reality and he realized his hands had slid higher on her back under his hoodie.

"Stiles, your pancake is burning…"

"So?" he asked with a hoarse voice, brushing his fingers on her skin.

She giggled and turned her head upward to catch his stare.

"You woke me up with the promise of pancakes." She lowered her voice, tracing patterns on his chest with her fingers and grinned. "I want those pancakes."

Stiles laughed through his breath and stepped back. He teased her by slowly taking his fingers off of her skin and immediately regretted her warmth and scent. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and with the other hand removed the pan from the stove. Lydia nibbled at her lower lip and made him come back to her.

"Would you come with me?"

It wasn't even a question; how could he say no? "Of course," he answered in a breathy voice.

They smiled at each other. Stiles could feel her breath on his lips and it was heady. Her stare was going from his eyes to his lips and he was about to lean forward and kiss her when she spoke and froze him to the bones.

"Besides, you must speak a little Polish, right?"

"No, not really…"

"No? But you do have a Polish name, right? Stilinski? Isn't it Polish?"

"Yeah, it is." He lost his smile and stepped back, loosening his grip on Lydia. "My father had his family in Poland and my mother was Polish." His voice quivered and he was shaking. Lydia had no idea what to do and took his hands in hers. "When she started to lose her memory, she… She would sometimes speak in Polish to us so… We had to learn. But I can't say that I speak it."

"Oh…" Lydia suddenly remembered this boy in middle school who had lost his mother and felt her blood run cold. "I'm sorry, Stiles. I – " she was whispering now, afraid to talk too loud and took his hand. "I should have remembered."

Stiles lowered his head and felt the blood pulsing through his body too quickly. His breathing was getting rougher. He hadn't spoken about Claudia Stilinski in a long time but time couldn't heal everything and he felt like a young boy who just lost his mum. The guilt, the crushing loneliness. Everything came back at once. He was paralysed, powerless to do anything against the images and thoughts that were rushing and howling through his mind. A thousand ghosts were pointing their bony fingers at him, biting his flesh. His father, Allison, Scott, Lydia, his mother… How many more lives had he ruined?

Anxiety was overwhelming him and he barely felt Lydia's fingers on his cheeks. She was watching his distress helplessly and trying her best to soothe him.

Everything in his body was too tight. His chest was squeezing his heart, making it impossible for him to breathe. It was too hot, he had to remove his shirt or he would suffocate but his muscles weren't responding anymore. Lydia took his head in her hands to make him look at her but he couldn't focus on anything. She was talking but he had no idea what she was saying. His vision was blurry, dark dots were surrounding her perfect face and something was buzzing louder and louder in his ears.

That was it. He was going to die. He was opening his mouth, trying to breathe in but oxygen seemed to burn his lungs. There were tears in his eyes. He tried to articulate _Lydia_ but it came out as a high-pitched sound that hurt all over his chest. Pain made him close his eyes. He had one fist on his chest, beating at his heart to help it pump blood. Lydia took his other hand that was on her lap in her hand and he hung on to it like he would hang on to a lifeline. He felt his legs giving way but something was helping him to stand up.

Suddenly, he felt Lydia's lips on his and everything froze. He held his breath, opening wide eyes.

He tried to focus on her. Everything was slowly coming back to normal. His environment was less and less blurry and the buzzing stopped, allowing him to hear Lydia breathe loudly through her nose. Her eyes were closed and he could feel her warm palms around his cheeks, the softness of her lips and the strength of her legs wrapped around his waist to steady him. She was sitting up so straight that her upper body couldn't be closer to his and he felt her breasts pressed against his chest.

The feeling of her body all around him was making him dizzy so he closed his eyes, letting his right hand grip her left thigh. He felt her shudder and gasp. It made him crash his lips even harder on hers.

How long had they stayed like that? He had no idea but at some point, he reluctantly leaned his head back to breathe. Lydia kept her eyes closed a few seconds, as she committed the kiss she just gave him to memory. She could still feel the shape of his lips and their weight on hers.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers when she opened them. Her intense stare on him was hypnotizing, she was barely blinking and kept wetting her lips. He knew this stare way too well. It was the same he had when he was gazing at her: an expression made out of wonder, adoration, love and confidence. He was drowning in the green sea of her eyes. Drunk but oddly calm.

"How… How did you do that?" He asked her in a breathy voice.

Lydia would have wanted to come up with a smart answer. She could have said that she had read somewhere that holding your breath could stop a panic attack and that when she had kissed him, he had held his breath. But her mind remained speechless and powerless. Once again, her words were fading into the deepness of his stare.

They were still pressed against each other with their noses only an inch apart. Neither of them could move and the sounds of their erratic beating hearts was all they could hear. Stiles was breathing loudly and it was intoxicating. Lydia was about to close her eyes and sigh at the feeling of his hand on her thigh trying to bring her even closer when someone rang at the door.

They stayed motionless a few seconds but the intruder rang a second time and Stiles rolled his eyes, muttering something like _God_ under his breath and lowered his head with a sigh, leaning the top of his head against Lydia's collarbone. His soft hair tickled her chin and she smiled, nibbling at her lower lip. She took his head in her hands, making him look at her and leaned forward to crash her lips on his just a second before whispering _Go_ against the corner of his mouth with a smirk. Stiles groaned, slowly gave her a peck on the top of her nose and went to the door.

Lydia stayed on the kitchen counter, suddenly cold and unable to think about anything else but Stiles. She could still feel the weight of his hands linger on her body and the firmness of his lips on hers. She couldn't help but nibble at them in the unconscious hope to find the taste of strawberry and coffee that Stiles had left there.

She came back to reality when she heard the slam of the door. The noise made her turn to glance out the window overlooking the street, and she saw a small group of kids in Scout's outfits running down the hill with boxes of cookies. She softly laughed when Stiles got back in the kitchen with a cookie in his mouth and an opened box in his hand as expected. He offered her one with a smile full of adoration that melted her reluctance to eat anything with unnecessary chemicals in its ingredients. She took it, feeling her cheeks blush when his forefinger stroked hers. Stiles got back to his pancakes while Lydia looked at him and his precise movements in a daze, slowly chewing what was for some reasons the best cookie she ever ate. She eventually stood up and set the table outside. Neither of them talked about what had happened but they both felt that something had changed. Their stares were less heavy and their steps lighter.

It was too hot to go out so they spent the day inside. The half-closed shutters let a soft light in and the distant sound of kids laughing and jumping in pools filled them with a blissful feeling.

In a few hours, Lydia learnt the basic grounding in Polish and Stiles didn't know that he could be more lost in admiration for her than he already was. Hearing her speak Polish wasn't as hard as Stiles had feared. It was Lydia, after all.

They bought plane tickets for Warsaw without buying anything for the return.

For the first time in years, Lydia felt genuinely free. It wasn't like what she had felt when she had decided to follow Stiles to find Peter. It was warmer. Something was buzzing underneath her skin, making her want to scream, jump and laugh until her body was exhausted.

Stiles couldn't help the mocking grin on his face when he was seeing her fidgeting like that and she would nudge him with a dazzling smile every time. He felt such inner peace in him and it contrasted so much with his natural hyperactivity that he couldn't do anything else but smile at the idea that maybe they were starting to have an influence on each other.

This could make him happy forever.


	9. Pythagoras

Lydia was a vision.

Stiles was watching her from across the room gliding between everyone, moving with the ease of an ice skater. Whenever she would leave a group, all stares would linger on her a little while before people would resume their conversations. As if an angel had just appeared and they had to take a moment to gulp down their emotions.

How could they not look at her? She had the bearing of a queen.

Her smile was the one a monarch would give to her subjects: ruthless, superior but with enough kindness and warmth that people would seek her respect. She walked with her back straight, holding her chin up as a sign of challenge and all her movements were made with such grace it left Stiles in a daze.

He could have believed he had in front of his eyes the Lydia she used to be in high school if it wasn't for the fact that she was acknowledging his existence with warm gazes, smiles that she used only for him and the fact that she barely wore make up.

Lydia had wanted to be bold by applying only a little mascara and her favourite red lipstick. She felt gloriously naked and oddly in control of everything.

Stiles was hypnotized by the sharp movements of her lips which had the same sensuous shade of red as her dress and made her hair look even darker than usual. She could feel Stiles's gaze on her and once in a while, she would return his stare and wet her lips or slightly tug at them with her teeth in a teasing grin with a smile full of those dimples Stiles could die for.

Stiles wasn't sure if she realized what she was doing but he would choke on his food every time with a mumbled _fuck_.

It had been an hour since the group had been escorted to the post-conference banquet room where a buffet was being served, and Stiles had yet to leave the appetizer table... or _amuse-bouche_ as a grumpy old lady with a fake snobbish accent and a silk scarf had corrected him. ( _Oh, how a-moo-sing_ , he'd joked, barely restraining himself to take two napkins and make a puppet show… she didn't think it was funny.)

He had stayed at Lydia's side a little while but had soon realized that the salmon pate and pierogis (although he could really go for some of those mini cocktail wieners right about now) were a better company than all those old motherfuckers, all of them crowded around Lydia like flies around honey and looking at him with contempt.

 _Nah, it's jealousy, definitely jealousy_ , Stiles decided as one of those assholes threw him a glare.

It was only fair, he had it coming.

Stiles had been eyeing the appetizer table with envy since they had entered the room so, when Lydia had told him she was a little hungry, he hadn't hesitated a second. Plus, if he was being honest, he was getting really bored with those discussions.

Lydia was in a conversation with a group of three hungry flies when he had come back and he barely had time to give her something to eat before they physically shut him out, standing before him to prevent him from getting closer to Lydia or even giving him their empty glasses and sending him away.

He had eventually given up but had met Lydia's stare too many times to ignore the fact that she was bored.

And it was his duty to entertain her, right?

He had then decided to make a fool of himself, making faces to the appetizers, giving her lopsided smiles and feeling only satisfied when she would purse her lips with too many dimples to be serious and nod to what Stiles assumed were banalities.

She had been on the verge of blatantly laughing for a long time, and the wink he'd given her had been enough to make her snort.

Lydia Martin had _snorted_ in the middle of a mundane conversation because she had been distracted by _him_ of all people…

Asshole-fly number two had turned his head, spotted him and had glared.

So naturally, Stiles had waved his arm with a crooked smile (making Lydia nibble at her bottom lip in the process, so that was a win) and asshole-fly number one had laid his hand on his friend's shoulder to say something to his ear, breaking their staring contest.

But the thing is, it had been _an hour_ since that had happened and Stiles was starting to feel a little jealous himself.

Okay, maybe they weren't all old and Lydia was indeed famous… She did receive a Field's Medal after all.

Stiles was happy to see her glowing like that but he couldn't help feeling a little lonely. He hated feeling like that, she didn't owe him anything. That wasn't how his love for her worked… But he didn't want to go back to a place where he could only admire her from afar. He could still feel the weight of her lips on him, the embrace of her body around him and it drove him crazy. His attempts to make her laugh were nothing but driven by his need to be noticed. He wasn't better than those pretentious dickheads _…_

He was currently gulping down his second tray of salmon-dill-goat cheese canapés when he noticed the suspicious stares people were throwing at him. He smirked and scoffed underneath his breath. Other's opinions had never mattered to him. So, what if he was a weirdo who couldn't take his eyes off of the only genius he knew while stuffing down a canapé every three or four seconds? Especially when the genius in question was wearing a red-fitted dress that was making his mind freeze? That was his problem.

Besides, Lydia had eyes only for a guy in a suit and Stiles was secretly seething inside. This guy was close shaven and his hair… He didn't seem to use any gel and yet, he didn't have any rebel lock. They were all keeping still on their own will. Was he even real? If Stiles would come closer, he was sure he could smell some after-shave or expensive cologne. Something mentholated, fresh and manly. Something smelling like power and strength.

The guy turned to take a glass of champagne and give one to Lydia. Stiles had him on full display now and snorted when his eyes fell on his breast pocket. He had a carefully folded freaking pocket-handkerchief with his fucking initials embroidered on it! Stiles couldn't believe it.

Was it something specific to this suit? Did he ask his tailor to initial this one specifically, or did all of his suits bare his initials on his pockets squares?

"Ridiculous", Stiles muttered between two mouthfuls of pierogis. He was probably the kind of guy who wore pairs of beige chinos with tassel loafers and burgundy cardigans on Sunday…

The guy must have told a joke involving his ridiculous cuff links and expensive watch because he was laughing – showing his perfect teeth – while waving his arm.

Stiles rolled his eyes and mimicked him with a mocking voice. "Look at me, I'm stuffy and I wear expensive shit!"

He got himself noticed by an elderly couple with coral-pink wool jackets who whispered to each other while glaring at him. He mumbled something about _assholes_ and the elderlies left with reproachful stares, letting Stiles resume his observation.

Lydia had her hand on the guy's perfect forearm. That was Stiles's cue.

He stepped out onto the balcony and took a deep breath before leaning against the railing. He needed to clear his head... get his mind off of monogrammed pocket square guy… and the way he made Lydia smile. Stiles shook his head. Why was this bothering him? Guys always looked at Lydia in high school. They never made him feel this way.

Of course… back then it wasn't like she'd shown any interest in him. Now that she had…now that she'd kissed him…

Stiles groaned. Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to be in love with Lydia freaking Martin? She could have any guy she wanted. What would make him think that she'd ever in a million years choose… him?

His phone buzzed in his pocket and part of him wanted to ignore it and continue wallowing, but he thought better of it.

 _Where'd you go?_

Stiles sighed and replied, _Balcony. Needed some air._

He waited a moment for her reply, but it never came so he stuffed the phone back into his pocket and looked up at the sky. He heard the door open behind him, but he didn't turn around. The breeze that whipped through at that exact moment wafted the scent of her perfume toward him.

"It's quiet out here," she said softly, as she leaned against the railing next to him.

He looked down as he replied, "It felt quiet in there too." He felt her gaze on him and he stole a glance out of the corner of his eye instead of turning his head. Her brow was creased in confusion…. as if she was trying to figure something out.

She finally turned her head away from him. "Really? I thought it was too loud." Stiles raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. "I guess I've gotten used to it just being the two of us. I forgot how stressful working a room could be."

Stiles scoffed. "You mean McStuffy didn't make it any easier for you?" Even as he said it, he knew it sounded childish.

"Who?" When he turned to look back at Lydia, she was looking at him with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, "You know… Mr. I've-got-an-embroidered-handkerchief sticking out of my pocket."

"Oh," she laughed softly and turned away, staring at the garden bathed in the moonlight. "No… actually what was making it easier was being able to look away from those conversations and find you. Most of the time you were stuffing your face with hors d'oevres." Lydia smiled with a faraway look in her eyes and Stiles thought that it was a smile that Lydia didn't even realize she was making.

Her smile made him smile, and when he thought about what he must have looked like from her perspective, a laugh bubbled out of his chest. His laugh made her laugh and then soon they were just two idiots laughing on the balcony, for what was probably longer than necessary.

When they finally caught their breath, Lydia began slowly, "Yeah…I guess we were both feeling a little lonely in there, huh?"

 _Loneliness._ That's what he felt. It hit like an _Aha!_ moment. It wasn't jealousy he'd been feeling. He was lonely. He felt like he was being ignored. But he wasn't being ignored. In actuality, she'd been watching him all night. Maybe just as much as he had been watching her. "Yeah…" he finally agreed. "I guess so."

They were quiet for a few moments before Lydia broke it. "McStuffy? Really?"

"You know like McDreamy or McSteamy from _Grey's Anatomy_? It was a lame joke…"

"No, I got it. I just didn't realize you watched _Grey's Anatomy._ "

Stiles shrugged, "You don't need to watch it to get the reference."

He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Why did he have to sound this bitter, this rude about nothing when they were having a nice conversation under the moonlight? _You don't need to watch it to get the reference_ … What kind of asshole was this harsh, this pretentious?

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes and saw her opening her mouth to talk. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to be harsh… Did it come across as rude?" he cut her off before she had time to articulate something.

Lydia frowned and turned to look at him with a puzzled expression. "No… Was it supposed to be?"

"No!" He frenetically shook his head, feeling relived and hating his hyperactive brain, "Not at all… I'm just… I've been in a bad mood tonight."

"Because of McStuffy?" she asked slowly in a tentative voice.

Stiles lowered his head, "Yeah, I guess…"

"Well," Lydia nudged him with her shoulder, making him look at her "just forget about him, I already forgot his real name… He'll forever be McStuffy with the private yacht to me."

Stiles snorted "Oh, because having cuff links, embroidered pocket squares and perfect hair wasn't enough? He needed to have a private yacht?"

"Give him some rest, will you?" He raised his head, ready to apologize again, but her lips were pursed and there was a hint of laugh in her eyes. "I mean… It's not his fault if he feels the need to over compensate, you know?"

"Lydia Martin, are you making dick jokes to make me feel better?"

"Maybe?" She started to laugh and put her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. "Oh my god, I totally did, didn't I?"

Stiles nodded with a lopsided smile that made her grin even more and she shook her head "I just… I don't like seeing you like this!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, angry at me. It reminds me of… of the day after you found me at the train station. We barely spoke for the entire car ride." She took her eyes off of him and lost herself in the sight of the trees in front of them. "I don't like it when you close yourself off."

It took Stiles a moment to collect his wits and restrain himself from taking her in his arms.

"I'm not angry at you, Lydia. I'm just an idiot."

He heard her laugh through her nose and turned to lean his back against the railing.

"You know," Stiles eventually said "I do actually watch _Grey's Anatomy…_ Or did until they killed off my favorite character."

"Ha! I knew it!" She left the railing to lean her hip against it. "Who was it?"

"I'm not gonna reveal all my embarrassing secrets at one time… You need to tell me something embarrassing too."

Lydia nibbled at her lips and laid her chin in her hand. She turned her head to look at him and smiled. "I used to watch _One Tree Hill_ when I was working on my thesis. Your turn."

He smirked and leaned closer to her to whisper the name in her ear.

"Really? I never would have guessed that."

Stiles raised his eyebrows at her "Really? Lydia Martin, you're smart and beautiful but you have so much to learn about me."

"I guess you're right." She bit her lip as if internally arguing with herself, before reaching up on her tiptoes and kissing his cheek. "And I can't wait to find out."

At this moment, they heard the door open behind them and both turned their head at the same time. Stiles swore underneath his breath when he realized who was standing in front of them, looking at Lydia with an alluring smile: fucking McStuffy.

She must have heard him and felt his annoyance because she slightly fisted his flannel when the intruder called her name.

"Lydia, I've been looking for you. They served the main course a few minutes ago, some stuffed chicken and vegetables I think – "

He was cut off by Stiles who couldn't help but burst out laughing at the word _stuffed_. Trying and failing to be discreet, he turned around to face the garden and tried to muffle his laugh. But it was contagious and Lydia had trouble staying face-stoned. She tried to make him keep quiet by bringing her hand over his mouth but it had the opposite effect.

"I'm sorry for this one," she apologized half serious, pointing her chin toward Stiles with her hand still over his mouth, "what were you saying?"

"Huh, I have a suite reserved in the hotel, it's the Emperor suite, the most expensive one – "

Another burst of laugh bubbled out of Stiles's chest and Lydia had to purse her lips and nod to help refraining herself from laughing.

"Anyway," he resumed, less confident and nervously playing with his tie, "I was thinking we could have dinner in my suite if you'd like to."

Lydia cleared her throat to chase any trace of laughter. "Thanks, but I'm gonna stay with my friend here. He can't be left alone too long… He can't behave apparently…"

Stiles lifted his head and wiped his eyes that had begun to water with his sleeves "That's so uncalled for, Lydia. I can totally behave." His voice was hoarse from laughing and it made Lydia look at him with so much affection he completely forgot whatshisname behind him.

"Uncalled for? Can't you wait until…" She screw up her eyes, as if trying to remember something.

"Oh my god, you really did forget his name!"

"Shut up Stiles, he's still… not here anymore…"

Stiles turned around to look at the place where he had been standing and was now empty. They looked at each other and started to laugh again, Lydia leaning against his chest for balance.

"Everyone's gonna hate me, you do realize that?"

"Come on, he's never gonna tell what just happened. I know I wouldn't." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I can't believe he played the _most expensive suite_ card…"

Lydia buried her face in his shirt to quietly laugh and when she lifted her head, she had tears in her eyes.

"Stiles, this is the last time I'm taking you out for such an event."

"Oh come on, you would have died of boredom without me."

"Maybe…"

Lydia reached for his hand to pull him back inside. "Come on. Let's go back…except this time… I want you right next to me."

They grabbed two glasses of champagne and sat on a couch in a quiet corner. Lydia explained to him the conversations she had had and was taking a malicious pleasure in taking down every theory she had heard in the evening, calling everyone in the room idiots.

As usual, Stiles didn't understand everything but the champagne was slowly going to his head, making him dizzy. He was hanging on every word she was saying, immersed in the feeling of her voice that wavered slightly whenever she would let out a laugh in a fog of champagne and tiredness.

Stiles had his arm thrown on the back of the couch behind Lydia and she was slowly sinking into his side, seeking his comforting warmth with her head nuzzling closer to his chest and her hair tickling his chin. She could feel his gaze on her, on her eyes, on her lips and she wondered how she could have lived her entire life without it.

She would sometimes put a hand on his thigh to straighten up or to get closer to his ear to whisper something scandalous about one of the guests in a low and hushed voice. Lydia could feel him holding his breath and she couldn't help but look at the overwhelmed expression in his eyes. In those moments, Stiles wanted to kiss her so badly it was taking everything in him to remember where they were.

Her face was so open, she radiated such joy that he couldn't believe the Lydia he had in front of him was the same Lydia he had found in the cemetery several long weeks ago. He would let her go with the first shithead in a beige pair of chinos if it meant seeing her as happy as she was. ' _Maybe I should buy a pair of chinos'_ he thought, before quickly dismissing the idea.

They were so focused on each other they didn't notice people had begun to leave. When a cleaning lady asked them to move aside so she could sweep under the couch, they decided it was time to head back to the small flat they had rented.

xxxxxx

Stiles drifted off so quickly it surprised Lydia who couldn't relax her muscles. She was tossing and turning without finding a good position. It didn't help that all she could think about was the way Stiles's eyes hadn't left her the entire evening. The memory made her smile at the ceiling and bite back giggles.

She was glad they hadn't even discussed the idea to share a bed – it seemed to be a given now – but having him so close and yet so far gone in his sleep when she felt her entire body twitching with an incredible energy was frustrating her to no end.

The moonlight was bright enough to allow her to admire his adorable sleeping face with his hair all rumpled and his mouth slightly opened. She bit back the urge to take his bottom lip in her mouth while running a hand through his hair. She loved his hair, it gave him a just-out-of-bed look that was oddly endearing. She turned her back to him with a loud sigh, hoping it would help her tame the heat rushing down her body. But even in this position, her memories of the evening flooded her mind.

Making him feel alone hadn't been her intention and it wasn't something she had particularly enjoyed. She liked seeing him confident and happy but she had felt important. For an entire evening, she could tell and see that her actions were affecting someone. That was something she hadn't experienced in a while.

Since they had met, she had always been able to tell that she was important to Stiles but they had always been in situations that weren't regular. Tonight had been nothing but normal and it felt important for some reason.

His eyes hadn't only been filled with want and lust, there had been something else that was giving her goose bumps on the forearms, making her giggle like a teenager with her face buried in the pillow.

She fell asleep around 3AM with a smile on her lips, noticing a sharp pain in her scar but forgetting it as soon as it had appeared.

A delicious smell coming from the kitchen woke her up. She slowly stood up, wearing the same smile she had had when she had fallen asleep.

Stiles had his back on her when she walked into the kitchen and hadn't notice her right away. Many thoughts were rushing through her mind while observing him cook and humming an old Pink song with the radio next to him, swaying his hips and gesturing widely.

Happiness would surely be easier to learn than Pythagorean Theorem.

xxxxx

They practically stayed in the kitchen the entire day. Stiles hadn't always loved cooking but despair had driven him to look for ways to empty his mind and cooking combined something useful and creative. Everything he knew, he learned it with an old notebook that had once belonged to his mother. When she was in Europe, she used to carry it with her to gather as many recipes as she could and to relate her journeys.

It was a long time since he had taken this old notebook out but being in the country where she was born must have woken up an urge to dig it out.

Stiles had spent the day cooking specialities of Poland, Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece or Netherlands and Portugal for Lydia. He had decided to stop letting jealousy or diffidence eat him up and turn him into a scared teenager.

The afternoon was slowly drawing to an end and they were settled on the couch with a mug of tea in their hands and a full stomach. Lydia was leafing through Stiles mother's notebook and translated him some passages.

"Have you never read it aside from the recipes?" she asked after a few minutes spent in silence.

Stiles was a little taken aback by the question. He took a sip out of the tea, wincing at how cold it was now before putting it on the floor.

"No. When she died, my father and I suddenly couldn't stand Polish anymore. But I kept the notebook. I couldn't just throw it away." He started fidgeting with his fingers on his lap, feeling how nervousness was constraining his voice. "We only used the recipes she had already translated. The other stuff was… too hard."

Putting her own mug aside, Lydia took his hands in hers without giving it too much thought. It made him raise his head and look at her with soft and teary eyes.

"I'm sorry, we can talk about something else if you like."

Lydia was gently tracing patterns on his fingers and hands. Stiles remained speechless for a while and shook his head to help him hold back the tears building up in his eyes.

"It's fine."

Stiles laid his head on the back of the couch and Lydia followed him, pressing her body against his with her legs folded on the couch and her head cuddled up in the crook of his neck. He could tell she was trying to reassure him with her presence and suddenly, it was like a gate had been opened and he couldn't stop himself from talking, only taking a break to stifle the sobs in his voice.

"When my father died, I was still technically a minor so I was placed in a foster home. This notebook was the only thing reminding me of my family. When my parents first dated, they translated the recipes together. My mother would dictate to him and he would write. Looking at it soothed me, it helped me remember how my life used to be. How life could have been without the supernatural."

He took the notebook from Lydia's hands and showed her one page in particular. She felt his chest shake with a silent laugh and it wrung her heart to hear this laugh. It wasn't a sound filled with joy but filed with nostalgia and long gone hopes. She pressed herself closer to him, putting her arm around his waist. He had to know she was as much there for him as he was for her and she expressed it the only way she knew how.

"I love this one. My father had started to write nonsense so my mother must have nudged him and taken the pen back from his hands. Whatever she did, it made him slip… His writing had never been really legible but this page is full of crossed out words and phrases. Then, it's my mother's writing. She had always taken her time when she wrote." He paused, smiling at the sweet memories rushing through his mind. "I love this page, I used to picture the scene, their laughter… With all the crap going on around me, it was the one place I could find any sort of happiness. And Scott. We were slowly growing away from each other. It was the last thing tying me to a sense of normality."

"Why weren't you talking to each other anymore?"

"There was a time when everything was slowly coming back to normal after my father… died. We tried to pretend we could also come back to normal. But not long after, a lot of shit happened and Allison died. He needed to heal and guilt was gnawing me so much I couldn't find the strength in me to talk to him about it. I should have. He needed it… We kept texting, seeing each other. We would talk about anything but what mattered, do meaningless stuff and pretend to enjoy it like playing video games or binge watching something with popcorn. But it wasn't right, it wasn't like it used to be. There were those dark clouds above us, those dark thoughts in both of our minds and none of us dared to talk about it. He went to college to become a vet and I couldn't afford it so I waited until I could leave the foster home on my own and went after Peter. I was so focused on the task I had given to myself that the already tiny bond we had kept wearing thinner and thinner."

"Did you try to get in touch with him since? Don't you want to go back someday?"

Stiles sighed and continued in a low voice that echoed in Lydia's ear pressed on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I tried. Many times. But I'm scared it will only make him sink back into this shit. I hope he was able to turn a new leaf, start a new life, you know? I just don't want to destroy everything he rebuilt if he sees me again." He took a deep breath, absently playing with one of Lydia's locks that he kept winding and unwinding around his finger with his arm circling her shoulder. His voice was almost a whisper, as if he was telling her a secret, something he was ashamed of. "I'm not sure I even answered his last _Happy Birthday_ text."

Lydia wanted to tell him that he was surely mistaken that letting him into her life had probably been the best idea she ever had because months ago, she still thought that whatever was happening between them wasn't for her.

But she didn't say anything because she wasn't like him. Because words were scary and contained something powerful she didn't know how to control.

She took the hand he had in her hair, undoing the knot he had made and intertwined their fingers. He laid his cheek on the top of her head and Lydia was sure she could feel him smiling. Their hands came down to rest on her thigh and Lydia squeezed it as tight as she could, hoping that her thoughts could get tattooed on his hand, go through his skin to spread in his blood, his entire body to eventually reach his mind and heart.

"Anyway," he cleared his throat and his voice was more controlled. "I kind of left the notebook aside in my race against Peter. I was so obsessed with the idea of finding him and getting a revenge that I could spend a day, several days sometimes, without ever thinking about my mother, my father or Allison. I felt so guilty for forgetting them… You know, it's weird how sometimes your brain makes you forget things. In the first weeks after my mother had died, I would sometimes come back from school smiling because I remembered she had said she would bake chocolate chips cookies. I had totally forgotten she had died. But the second I opened the door, I would see my father sitting at the kitchen table with his head buried in his hands and an empty whiskey bottle on the floor. Everything came rushing back in my mind. She hadn't baked cookies since my last birthday and she was dead. Just like that, in a few seconds, all the memories would come back rushing in my mind. It hurt so much…" His voice trailed off and he gulped, waiting a few seconds to continue. "That's what I was thinking about when I realized I hadn't thought about Allison or my parents in a long time. I felt even more guilty because I knew Scott would never forget Allison."

Still at a loss of words, Lydia took Stiles's hand to her lips to kiss his knuckles almost unconsciously. A tiny gesture to erase the sadness in his hoarse voice. Stiles answered by brushing his lips over the top of her head.

"You would have hated me, you know?"

He wasn't waiting for an answer but Lydia whispered "No, I wouldn't have" against his fingers. Her voice was so low she wasn't sure if he had heard her and he resumed without acknowledging her.

"I would sink into a terrifying spiral that could last days. I tried to cheer myself up with the notebook but all I saw were the memories of the people I lost. I drank too much, I wouldn't eat anything and spent my days missing my old life. When my biggest issues were to find ways to keep still in class for an hour and-" He abruptly stopped and scoffed. It made Lydia lift her head to look at him and understand what could have went through his mind.

He seemed to hesitate to go on but something was making his eyes sparkle with something that rendered Lydia unable to resist the urge to ask "and?"

He smiled softly, caressing her fingers in his hand. "And to catch your attention".

The affection she felt for this strange and clumsy boy was suddenly taking up so much space in her entire being that Lydia couldn't do anything else but freeze a few seconds before sighing and smiling widely.

Something strong was pulling her toward Stiles, making her want to taste his lips again and hide for all eternity on that couch with him. She curled up against his neck and it was almost a reflex to kiss the skin under his ear with an open mouth, to slightly lick his soft skin from the tip of her tongue.

Lydia felt rather than heard the low moan that escaped Stiles's throat and kept on lazily kissing his neck to hear that same noise again a little louder.

It was exhilarating, like slowly getting drunk on him.

Stiles was looking at her little hand hanging tightly on his shirt to give her some balance. He was so overwhelmed with love that he was sure it must have been written all over his face. He would have wanted to confide in her more about the love he had always felt for her. Tell her that she had always been somewhere in his heart, in his mind. That in his darkest moments, when he would flood his body with cheap vodka, she was the one he would take to his bed. Her and not another redhead who never had the same strawberry blonde hair she had and who never had her mesmerizing mind. It was her he would confide in. Her name he would repeat in a breathy voice like a prayer in the dark of the night.

But it wasn't.

It had never been her.

Still today, the same bitter taste would linger on his tongue when he would think about it again. The sickening taste of alcohol mixed with the salt of the tears he had shed in his sleep when he would wake up in a strangers' bed. When an unknown perfume would be left on his pillow and would stick around too long.

Maybe one day he would find the courage to tell her all about it but not today.

Completely lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that a tear had started to run down his cheek, followed by another.

Lydia softly kissed his tears away from his cheeks to his eyelid and laid her head back on his shoulder when she could tell he had returned to reality.

"You have it now. You know that, right?"

Stiles lowered his head to look at her, having no idea what she was talking about.

"What?"

"My attention. You have it now."

He answered her smile with a brush of his thumb on her cheek. It was a comfortable silence but something jolted Lydia.

"Wait," she straightened up a little but kept her body pressed against Stiles's. "Why did you take the notebook this morning? Did something happen?"

The concern in Lydia's stare made Stiles widened his eyes and take her hand in his. "No, no, no! I felt great this morning. I just…" He looked at their intertwined fingers and laughed underneath his breath. "I just wanted to cook something nice for you, I don't know..."

Lydia felt her heart skipped a beat and melted instantly. She smiled and kept her voice low.

"Well, you can do that whenever you want. But you have to tell me if I overstep some line by reading it like I did."

"You didn't." He shook his head and held her chin between his fingers to make her look at him. He wanted her to understand how soothing she was for him. His deep stare made a shiver. "It's the opposite actually. You're giving her a new voice and it's nice. When I look at it, I struggle to remember the details like the tone of her voice, the exact shade of her eyes. But not with your help. Besides, you're making me enjoy Polish again and I'm so grateful for that." He leaned forward and kissed the dimples around her smile while speaking. "You're good at that, you know? Helping me to turn bad memories into good ones."

He was so close to her mouth that Lydia couldn't stop her body from reacting. She shivered and closed her eyes, almost moaning at the feeling of his warm lips lingering too close from where she needed them. It made her heart beat so fast, Lydia was sure Stiles would hear it.

"You're good at that too." She murmured against his cheek.

Silence filled with tension and shallow breathing stretched between the two of them. Lydia tugged at her lips with her teeth to calm her quiet panting and put her thoughts back on tracks.

"Do you want me to keep reading?"

Stiles let out the air he was holding which seemed to ease his tension. "Yeah, I'd like that."

They changed position to get more comfortable. Stiles sat with his back against the wall, his legs parted in front of him and Lydia settled between them with her back on his chest. He put his arms around her waist and his chin on the top of her head. She was so tiny it made him smile.

Lydia began to read the pages one after the other. She would sometimes feel his lips against her skull and a few tears wetting her hair. At those moments, she would stop reading, slowly turn her head backwards until his nose would lie on her forehead. She would then wait until she felt peace and quiet overwhelm her, until the same feelings would reach him while tracing patterns on his forearm with a slight brush of her fingers.

When she could feel him relax all around her, she would resume her reading.

It was a mystery to Stiles how she always managed to appease him. It was almost supernatural.

On the last page, Lydia noticed that the writing seemed to be more hurried.

"Did your father write that?"

"No… He was terrible at speaking Polish so writing it… No, it's-" He took the notebook from Lydia's hands and underlined some numbers with his fingers. "Look, it must be the date. It was…" He felt his heart stop for a second. "It was a few days before her death. She must have written it at the hospital. What does it say?"

"It's a list of countries and places she loved and she wrote _Places to show to Miecz-_ something, I can't read it."

It was suddenly like someone had punched him in the guts. He had somehow managed to hold back his tears because he had already heard everything Lydia was reading. When he was a child and they were out of bed time stories, she would tell him about her youth in Europe.

But this was new. It had been on this blank page for over twenty years, waiting for him to read it, to give life to those simple words and he had never seen it. He had never known that in her last half-lucid moments, she had wanted to show him the places she grew up in. A deafening guilt was making his ears buzz. Guilt at the idea that he had never paid enough attention to his mother's notebook, only using it for his own benefits. Never trying to understand what it had meant to her on her death bed. The tears he had tried to hold back were running down his cheeks and he tried to wipe them off with his sleeves in a silent crying.

Lydia felt powerless and rolled over, straightening a little up to face him.

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

He looked down, wiping more tears off and cleared his throat.

"Mieczyslaw. That's… That's my name."

Realization hit her. She wanted to know how to stop his tears, know the words that would make him feel better but she didn't so she curled up against him with her head nuzzling against his chest and her hand over his heart that was beating a little too fast.

They stayed curled up in each other until his tears wore off.

When his chest was no longer shaking with sobs and Lydia felt the warmth of his hand on her cheek, she raised her head and smiled at the look of gratitude in his eyes. Lydia felt her own heart beat too loud in her ears. She couldn't take it anymore. The tug tying her to his magnetic eyes was pulling too hard on her chest. Those days, it had felt like a hook getting caught on her heart and pulling, pulling, pulling… Until all she could do to ease the aching was kiss him to gather enough of him to heal the wounds behind her sternum.

So, she did.

Her stare drifted to his parted lips and she couldn't tell if it was her imagination playing her but it felt like he was pulling her toward him. It was like when she was a kid and wanted to extinguish a candle with her fingers. Scary but exciting and anticipation running through her veins.

She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, not daring to meet his stare and hurriedly crushed them against his.

He gasped but didn't move, causing her stomach to turn into a cold stone and drop. She closed her eyes and leaned back, ready to stand up and hide in the bathroom to undo the knots building everywhere in her gut.

But feeling something tugging at her forearm, she opened her eyes and saw his stare. It was so soft and calm that it erased all her doubts and she leaned forward again, slowly taking his lips in her mouth one after the other. She couldn't help but sigh in relief and contentment when he cupped her jaw and delicately kissed her back. Time seemed to expand. Everything was blurry except them and the heat rushing through their veins.

She felt his mouth opening and his wet tongue licking at her lips. The guttural moan that escaped Stiles's mouth when Lydia let her tongue meet his made her press her body closer to him and tilt her head to deepen the kiss with one of her hands grasping tightly at his hair. Stiles's hands were on her waist and she could tell he was fighting the urge to let them wander. His shyness made her smile against his lips and she had to stop kissing him a second.

She was overwhelmed with warm and gooey feelings. If she had to describe them, she would say that they were made of some thick and sweet syrup, something that would stick to everything it would touch and numb every pain, everything that wouldn't be an echo of her heart screaming and beating for Stiles.

She took another second gaze at Stiles's eyes. The despair and sadness had been replaced by something that darkened his stare and that made Lydia want to crawl under his skin. Without giving her more time, he crushed his lips against hers with more frantic gesture, kissing her with an opened mouth and breathy sighs that made Lydia shiver.

She could have stayed like that her entire life. With his tongue sliding from her lips to her mouth, his teeth slightly nibbling at her lips, his fingers grazing her ass and his hands caressing the small of her back, waist, cheeks and gripping the roots of her hair to pull her closer.

Lydia quickly realized that her mind was slowly drifting somewhere else, that she could easily get lost in the feelings of his touch. His hands had left her waist but she still felt them there. The ghost of his strokes lingered everywhere. Her side was still tingling, still waiting for his hands to go higher under her shirt and cup her breast.

She felt her heart quicken, it was intoxicating and she was actually losing herself in those feelings like she always had. Those hands could have belonged to a random guy she would have picked up in a bar, it would have been the same. It wasn't right. He wasn't a random guy, he was Stiles. The man she had been too afraid to kiss on a rainy day weeks ago.

Needing his stare to anchor her to the ground, she laid her forehead on his and nuzzled the bridge of his nose with hers to catch his attention. He opened his eyes and time seemed to stop again. She couldn't help but letting out a laughing breath. It was unreal. Time didn't stop in real life. It happened in books and movies, not in real life. Not to her. And yet, it felt like it.

"What?" she heard him whisper in his smile.

"Nothing," she tilted her head to brush her lips against his thumb at the corner of her mouth, already feeling better. "You're unreal, you know that?"

He laughed through his breath and she smiled, titling her head a little more to slowly take his thumb in her mouth in a teasing movement. She looked at him straight in the eyes and his reactions were a reward in themselves for her boldness. She saw him get wrecked in a second, emitting a groan from the deep of his throat she immediately knew she would want to hear again. He briefly closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were clouded with pure lust. She took his thumb between her teeth and licked the tip with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks.

Stiles reacted within seconds and pulled her toward him, grabbing her waist with a hand that must have covered half of her back, making her feel safer she had ever felt. He took her chin between his fingers and bore his stare in her eyes. She slightly trembled under his gaze, his eager stare sending a thunder of shivers down her stomach and lower belly. The nervous chuckle that was about to cross her lips turned into a moan the second his tongue parted her willing lips and his hands grabbed her ass more firmly. She felt them on her thighs and she moved up in his lap to straddle him, pushing her hips against him. His mouth left her own to kiss her neck, biting faintly at the skin under her jaw.

She closed her eyes, letting herself drown in the delicious inflections of Stiles's voice… The sounds of his sighs when her hands brushed the skin of his stomach above the waist of his pants… Or the melody of his groans when she started to slowly grind against him feeling him hard underneath her.

Her head was buried in his hair and she lost track of time again.

That, she could do. She knew how to control what was happening and it made her feel powerful.

She started to think about her next move. What kind of Lydia was appropriate here? A flow of ideas came rushing through her mind. According to what she knew about him, what their relationship seemed to be, what she felt about him, what he seemed to feel about her,… There were tones and tones of possibilities and Lydia had to choose wisely.

"Hey, Lydia?" His voice was deep, filled with lust and it jolted her body with electricity but the hint of concern in it broke her out of her trance.

His nose nuzzled up her ear.

"You have no idea how much it pains me to ask you this but – " A rush of guilt started to course through her veins, freezing her like a sudden cold shower. She readjusted herself on top of him, hiding her face from his stare in his neck. "Lydia?" His palm on her cheek warmed her up, helping her to hum in response. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to, you know?" His voice had lost its husky tone, it had been replaced with something hurt and borderline ashamed. Lydia felt her heart break into pieces. How could she do that to him? "I – " He trailed off, she hadn't said anything and his fingers started to nervously play with the hem of her shirt. "You're thinking too loudly, Lydia," he feigned a laugh, "what's wrong?"

She slowly sat up on his lap, letting her hand trail on his chest and keeping her stare down to avoid his eyes.

"Lydia, talk to me, please." He cupped her jaw, sitting up as well and made her look at him. She closed her eyes and regretted opening them the second she did because it wasn't just his eyes, it was him. He was hurt, feeling rejected. She had done it.

"Did I do something wrong?"

She shook her head before he even ended his question.

"No, no, you didn't. It's just – " She closed her eyes again. She couldn't look at him. She had to tell him but she couldn't do it while looking at his hurt stare. "It feels wrong. I… I don't want to fake anything with you." He froze underneath her, dropping his hand to sit straighter.

Her eyes flew open and she watched him put a pillow on his crotch, a look of confusion and rejection written all over his face.

"Oh… I'm… I'm sorry."

Lydia realized her mistake so she took his hand in hers. "No, no, not like that! I… I want you."

"Lydia, you're…" He let out a breath. His hurt expression seemed to fade away a little but he ran a hand over his face, keeping his hand on his mouth as if it would help his thoughts and breath to stay inside. He looked at her tiny hand making her way between his fingers grasping the pillow and at her apologetic smile. How could he resist her? Letting out another soft fake laugh and intertwining his fingers with hers, he continued, almost ashamed of what he was going to say. "You're kind of giving me mixed signals here, you know?"

Nerves were eating Lydia up; her heart was threatening to smash her ribcage with its erratic and strong pounding. She knew how important it was that she made it clear for him that he had never been the problem. She couldn't lose him.

"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice with her eyes down. She took a breath and met his stare. "Let me start over, okay?"

He nodded and removed his legs from underneath her. The lack of any contact with him made her chin tremble with stifled sobs.

"I want you, Stiles." Those words made him raise his head and look at her with so much adoration she felt her confidence and steady tone falter. He took her hand back in his and folded his legs on the couch, making their knees bump.

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. A lot actually." She smiled at her shy admission and at the feeling of Stiles's touch. Because she felt like she had to make up for what had happened, she continued. "I want to kiss you, feel you on me, inside of me, underneath me, everywhere." She bit her lips, blushing hard at her blunt words.

Stiles let out a breath and cupped her cheek. He leaned forward and faintly brushed his lips on hers. They sighed, their hands still intertwined on the pillow on Stiles's lap.

"But?" he asked against her mouth.

"But, I don't know how to lose control with you yet." She said it in one breath and leaned back. "I always leaned on the codes I learnt. Always lost myself in the same feelings. It's like – " She trailed off and blushed. A feeling of self-consciousness was spreading inside of her, she couldn't tell him.

"Lydia, it's okay." She was looking down and felt his warm lips kissing her bottom lip, then the other. "I won't judge, I promise."

She took a deep breath and continued. "I've always liked feeling numb. And I know how to get there… To an orgasm that would numb everything else. So, I used to control things: every emotion, every move, every situation…" She sighed in exasperation, running a hand through her hair. "I almost had mental note cards about the positions I could use in a given situation with a given kind of man – " Her voice lowered and trailed off, something inside of her was encouraging her to continue but her heart was still beating too hard to make it easy to focus on what she was saying.

Maybe that was the point.

Lose focus.

Lose control.

She closed her eyes and let the words flow out of her mouth. "I don't want that with you. I want to be able to not think about anything else but you and just enjoy every moment without asking myself about what's appropriate or not, about what position would be more effective. I don't want to feel numb anymore, I want to feel alive. I want it genuine with you, even if it's not perfect… Or maybe it will be perfect just because of that. That's why I can't. Because I shouldn't care about the result, I should care about you. Because for once, it matters." She opened her eyes, bright with unshed tears. "You matter. You're not just another one, you're you. And you matter. So much."

Stiles's mind remained blank. He looked at her, mouth agape and eyes wide opened. It felt a lot like her way to tell him she loved him and it was overwhelming. She looked so frail and self-conscious it wrecked his heart. On her face was written the slow realization of what she had said, what it implied and she looked like she wanted to hide from his burning gaze. Her eyes diverted from his. Stiles had to talk, to say something but he couldn't think of anything. He stood still and she eventually stilled too, both silently letting Lydia's words sink in their skins, mingle with Stiles's stares to build an armour around them both, something strong enough to protect their raw and bare bodies from anything.

Stiles shook himself out of his frozen state to avoid letting her think he was rejecting her and leaned forward to take her face in his hands and kiss her firmly. She let out a sob and a few tears. Stiles swept it off with his thumb and leaned his forehead against hers.

"God Lydia, you…" he paused to catch his breath. "You matter so much too, you don't have to apologize or explain yourself, you know? You don't owe me anything, it's fine."

She kissed the corner of his mouth and smiled. "Really?"

"Yes, really. We don't have to rush anything, you know? We'll take it slow, it's alright."

His hoarse voice made her tighten her grasp on his hand and she moved closer to him, laying her knees on the pillow to rest her forehead against his.

"But…" His groan made her lean a little back and she followed his pointed look toward his crotch. "If we want to have an actual conversation, you're gonna have to stay away from me a little while or I'm gonna have to quickly go to the bathroom to..." He laughed through his breath. "God, I can't believe how smooth I am…"

She smiled and slowly batted her eyelashes, looking at him from below with the most innocent look she could master. "Or… I could give you a hand with it?"

Stiles choked and raised his head so quickly he almost bumped against Lydia's nose.

"You… What?"

She bit back a laugh and resumed teasingly with her fingers wandering slowly on the pillow. "I could help you with your… situation." Stiles's jaw was slack and she let herself get caught in the look of pure awe he was throwing at her. "If you want to, of course."

"But you just said – "

She cut him off with a quick kiss. "I just said that I couldn't let myself go with you yet. I didn't say anything about the other way around."

"Oh…"

"Let me take care of you, Stiles."

Her voice was almost pleading and he couldn't stand the idea of her having to beg for it. He took her face between his hands, looking more confident. "I'm in if you're in but I need you to be certain that's what you want."

She nodded.

"I am."

Stiles let Lydia coax his mouth open with her tongue and shamelessly moaned when he felt her coming closer to him, pressing her breast against his chest and replacing the pillow with her thigh between his parted legs.

"It's so, so hard to tell you _no_ , you know?" he whispered against her neck in a hoarser voice that send shivers down Lydia's spine. She made him sit up straighter and sat on his lap with her thighs on both sides of his hips. She lowered her head until she felt his nose against her ear.

"How _hard_ exactly?"

Stiles was out of breath. She felt his muscles twitch when her left hand teased the sensitive skin under the waistband of his briefs. He let her unbuckle his pants and lifted his hips to help her roll them down.

Lydia discovered that the look in his eyes at this moment wasn't like anything she had ever seen. This look only intensified her resolve. He wasn't looking at her like she owed him something for leading him on, he was looking at her like he couldn't believe she was real, like he thought she was worth all the troubles.

She gulped down her emotions and kissed him slowly, licking into his mouth and swallowing his moans when she started to move against him. She stroked him leisurely, enjoying the feeling of his hands gripping her hips tighter and tighter, making her feel small and safe.

Lydia couldn't stand to be away from his stare any longer so she took his neck in her right hand and laid her forehead against him. Their noses were crushing against each other every time Lydia would quicken the pace. She was sure she could come from the single feeling of his breathy panting against her parted lips. But maybe another time, it wasn't about her. It couldn't be about her.

Stiles let out a throaty groan and his head fell back against the back of the couch, closing his eyes. Lydia followed him, pressing her body closer against him and laying her free hand beside his head for some leverage while her hips were grinding faster and faster against him, following the rhythm he had set with his hands, chasing his moans that were getting huskier with each stroke of her hand.

"Lyds, you're so fucking beautiful… I'm gonna…"

"Look at me, please, look at me."

He opened his eyes and it was all there. Everything that made Lydia feel whole, that made her inside melt and her heart beat too fast. It was all there in those hazel eyes that shone too bright to be from this Earth. How did she deserve him? What had she done to deserve this broken angel who could have anything he wanted from life and still settled for her?

He came with her name on the tip of his tongue and she swallowed this sound with a deep, wet and sloppy kiss. She felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes and buried her face in his perfectly rumpled hair, waiting for him to catch his breath.

Suddenly feeling exhausted for no obvious reason, she started to laugh nervously against his skin, wondering why she was feeling this blissful when she hadn't let herself orgasm.

"Lyds, are you alright?"

She felt his hand stroke her neck and her entire body softened.

"Yeah, I am." She was drowning herself in his scent when she suddenly remembered something. "Why don't you like your hair?"

She straightened up in his lap, her left hand resting on his stomach.

"What?" He was looking at her with his brow creased in confusion and scoffed.

"You said McStuffy had perfect hair… _You_ have perfect hair, why don't you like it?" She paused to catch her breath. "It's soft and perfect to run my hand through it or to nuzzle up against it."

Stiles smiled, too exhausted to actually laugh and took the hand she had laid next to his head to his lips to kiss her fingers one by one.

"Can we not talk about him right now?"

"I'm not talking about him," she laughed softly, running her right hand through his hair to make her point, "I'm talking about your hair."

"Well, I don't know… It's not that I hate it, it's just that it doesn't particularly look good. I always comb it with my fingers."

"I like it."

They looked at each other a few seconds before laughing a little too loudly for the situation. Lydia cuddled up against him and Stiles broke the silence.

"Why are we talking about hair?"

"I don't know, I'm exhausted," she said in a sleepy and laughing voice with her eyes closed.

Lydia let out a sigh of contentment when she felt his finger stroke the skin above her hip "What about you, Lyds?" he brushed his lips teasingly against her earlobe "Sure you don't want me to do something for you?"

She lifted her head slightly.

"I've never been one to deny myself an orgasm", she let out a faint laugh through her breath, "but I have to start breaking some patterns. So," she tried to catch his stare and kissed him briefly "I'm gonna say no for now." She paused a few seconds and grinned. "Well, dream-Stiles is surely gonna give me a hand tonight, but – "

"Oh, so there's a dream-Stiles?" his smirk made her roll her eyes.

"You don't know him? Tall, lean, steady gesture, no sarcasm, focused and with dexterous fingers… No?"

"Well," he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "If dream-Stiles isn't enough, you know where to find me."

He winked at her and moved to stand up to give her a tissue and go to the bathroom to wash himself quickly, letting a smiling Lydia alone on the couch.

When he came back, wearing sweatpants and a fitted dark blue shirt, Lydia was reading his mother's notebook. She raised an eye to take him in and felt blood throbbing in her ear and lower between her legs.

"Why do you look so good in sweatpants?" The words had escaped her mouth without her consent but his sudden blush made it impossible to regret them.

"I have to keep up with dream-Stiles, you know?" He sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulder. Lydia chuckled and leaned her head against his neck, sighing at the feeling of his lips against her hair.

She had to make sure he had understood her and fought her own instinct of self-preservation when she opened her mouth with a shaking voice "You know I'm not rejecting you, right?"

Stiles tightened his embrace and took in his hand her fingers tangled with the rubber bands of his sweatpants.

"Yeah, I get it, don't worry." He leaned his cheek on her head and continued in a low voice that filled Lydia with so much serenity she closed her eyes to let herself sink in the feeling. "Not that it would be selfish of you to let me go down on you, I get what it feels like to struggle against control over your own body and mind. And I know how scary it can be when you don't feel like yourself when it matters. You're on the edge of something, you're starting to learn how to be yourself again and you don't want to screw this up." He faintly laughed. "Well, the idea that it concerns me is slightly mind-blowing but I get your point. Trust me, I get it. I've been there."

Lydia stroked his forearm, tracing the lines of his tattoo with her fingers. "I hope I'll be able to say _I've been there_ one day…" She trailed off, insecurity in her voice.

"I know you will. You can do anything you want, don't start doubting yourself."

She raised her head to look at him. His stare was steady and full of trust. It almost made Lydia cry, nobody had ever put so much faith in her. She kissed him, sighing against his lips.

"Thanks." There were so many meanings hidden behind this tiny word it felt heavier than it was when it escaped her whispering mouth. She hoped his ear was big enough to let them all enter his mind and sink inside him.

"Anytime."

He kissed her one more time, feeling that he would never get tired of her lips. They stayed curled up against each other a moment when Lydia eventually talked with the notebook in her hands.

"You know, you still have time to discover everything she wanted to show you. I mean," she straightened a little up against him. "We didn't buy any return ticket. You could visit all those countries and make your own notebook."

Stiles remained quiet a little while.

"If I did, would you come with me?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

She scoffed, not waiting another second to reply. "Of course, silly. You can't calculate the square of the hypotenuse with just one side, can you?"

"What?"

He looked so confused it made Lydia giggle.

"Do you know how hot you look when you have no idea what I'm talking about?"

"Oh so, now, my lack of scholarly education is attractive?"

"Very much." She leaned to take his bottom lip in her mouth. "Didn't you hear of the Pythagorean Theorem?"

"I've heard that you don't stop panic attacks with kisses but I'm willing to let you keep on doing it if you come with me." He peppered his reply with kisses on her lips and nose.

Lydia felt her cheeks redden under his smirking gaze. She nudged him, faking a big laugh and stood up, mumbling something in Polish that made Stiles smile.

She came back with two glasses of water and sat back beside him without trying to conceal her grin.

They started to discuss everything they would have to do to plan their trip. After a little while, excitement took hold of Lydia. She stood up to grab paper and wrote to-do lists for everything. She printed itineraries, maps and lists of hotels. Stiles was watching her in total awe of her organization methods. He tried to help her but she kept pushing him away saying that he was making a mess with his random colour codes. (Who used blue because it was _pretty_? Blue was clearly for minor comments.)

The question of the money was a big issue. Such a trip would cost them a lot and they didn't have much. Lydia offered to use what she had received with her Field's Medal but Stiles refused, she could still need it. They decided to stay a few months in Poland to look for jobs and save money. They would also have to find a place to rent, something not too expensive.

Excitement wore them down and they fell asleep on the couch with the TV on and papers scattered everywhere around them. It was safe here. With Stiles's arm circling around her waist, his hand between her breasts and his leg between hers, it was like nothing bad could ever happen again. His hard chest protected her like a wall.

One day, she would be bare behind this wall, she would have stripped down to her simple soul. She would have handed the last brick of her own façade to Stiles. Maybe they wouldn't even need any wall after that. Maybe they would enjoy the sun and grow a garden together instead of a wall.

She had no idea what tomorrow would look like but as long as his scent would still invade her senses, she knew she would be alright.

She tightened her embrace, closed her eyes and it felt like her scar was closing up a little more.


	10. And it was all yellow

**A/N: Sorry for not updating, I wasn't around... But I'm back now :) I hope you still like it and remember that comments are the best gift you could make me if you do!**

Cheesiness in movies and books had never bothered Stiles.

Whether he liked it or not, he was a romantic. How could he not be after spending most of his life in love with the same girl?

As a kid, he liked to fantasize about the kind of chocolate he could offer her on Valentine's Day.

As a teenager, about the kind of flowers he should buy her if he ever had the guts to ask her to prom.

Later, when she wasn't there anymore and he was in a foster home, he day dreamt about the city she was in, her friends, her clothes, which pastry made her smile the most.

When he was chasing a monster around the world, he allowed himself to rest his mind from time to time and imagine a life in which he would know what kind of comfort food she liked after a long day at work.

Stiles had pictured everything, had thought about metaphors for her when he was more or less drunk, got emotional over poems and landscapes that reminded him of her. He had seen her in so many clouds, constellations and unknown faces in the crowd it would be hypocritical of him to deny his helpless romanticism.

That was why it bothered him so much when people would use romantic tropes to sell something.

That was also why he hated most romantic songs that were used in weddings.

Five years ago, he had met those people who were nothing but pragmatic and used _Yellow_ by Coldplay for their first dance on their wedding day.

They were this kind of people who had figured everything out, they had found who they were, where they belonged. They were finally at peace. Happy.

Stiles had always claimed that romantic songs weren't for those people.

They were for the lost ones, the dreamers, the ones who hold onto an idea of happiness, never knowing if they would find it.

Never knowing if it ever existed.

Never at peace.

Those songs were for the ones who fooled themselves into believing in a mirage. Those who kept asking themselves _What if_?

Not for the people who had decided that the answers they had found were satisfying enough.

It wasn't all _yellow_ for them.

They didn't want a yellow life anyway.

They wanted fences, perfectly manicured lawns and neutral colours.

Not that Stiles found it bad, but yellow was for people like him.

For people who would willingly let one bright colour blind them for the rest of eternity.

 _It was all yellow_.

It didn't mean "I found happiness with you. All my troubles are behind me now."

It meant something else.

It meant it was all you.

I close my eyes, I still see you.

I press my palms on my eyes after looking to long at the sun, it's still your shape that appears behind my eyelids in those big dark dots.

I breathe, it's your scent I'm inhaling.

My future is you.

My past is just a succession of seconds spent longing for you, waiting for you to cross my path and fill the void, spread your roots inside.

Not only do I dream about you, but you are what my dreams are made of.

What my thoughts are made of.

My sighs.

I stared so long at your smile in the stars,

Breathed so many times the carbon monoxide you exhaled somewhere

That even my cells could be your own.

I'm blinded by you.

And it's all yellow.

Yellow.

The colour of those months spent in a lost farm somewhere around Krakow.

If someone would ask Stiles to sum up those months in three words, he would find a way to get around the question.

Those months spent giving hay to cows, feeding hens, waking up early and going late to bed had been nothing else but the secret ways of the universe to bring Lydia's orbit closer to his.

So, if he had to choose three words, he would narrow it down to one that weighed like a million.

Lydia.

Lydia and everything he kept discovering about her daily habits. He was astounded by her most ordinary actions, catching sight of every little thing all starry-eyed and mouth agape.

She was filling his days, constantly occupying his mind.

They were quickly hired at a farm. Lydia, to help with the administrative work, while Stiles did manual labor. The job came with a 21 square meter tiny flat that the farmers rented in exchange of nine extra hours of work a week.

Usually, Stiles hated waking up early. He was used to it, but he had always hated waking up when some others were going to bed.

But since he was sharing a bed with a strawberry blonde goddess, it wasn't a problem anymore.

He often woke up with a few strands of her hair tickling his nose, her adorable sleeping face turned toward him. She always looked so peaceful it was breathtaking. He would stare at her in wonder until the weight of his eyes made her open her own. She would whisper a low _morning_ in a voice full of sunshine and a smile devoid of any filter. Stiles could read so many things in this smile he felt almost guilty, like he was invading her intimacy without her realizing it. But then, she would kiss him lazily and go back to sleep for a few more hours, erasing his doubts and making the earth a better place.

Some days, Lydia would get out of bed at the same time he did or a little earlier to prepare breakfast. She would make coffee and place the eggs and bacon next to the stove. Never forgetting to take the butter out of the fridge to give it time to soften.

Stiles understood very quickly that all those thoughtful gestures were her way of expressing her happiness and her affection for him. So, he would kiss her and bring back flowers for her at the end of his day, never failing to tell her she was the eighth wonder of the world.

There was nothing like seeing her roll her eyes and make fun of his sappiness with a big smile she wasn't even trying to hide anymore.

They had one day off in their week and after a month of good work, Stiles managed to get an extra morning off. Those mornings were the best thing that could have ever happened to him.

They allowed him to know that Lydia needed exactly fourteen minutes in the bathroom and that she liked to eat her breakfast first. He woke up at the same time she did to heat up the hot water tank while she ate to save her from waiting too long for her shower. When she would leave to go to work, he would always kiss her at the front door, still in his pyjamas and feeling like a stay-at-home husband.

For one moment, it was their life and he would revel in this thought.

He knew that the first thing she did when she would come back home was to take her shoes off and throw them haphazardly next to the front door. He knew it because at the end of the day, he would always find them at the same place. The first time, he got scared that something had happened, that Peter or someone had found them and that she had to fight because such a mess wasn't very Lydia-like. But he had found her on their bed, dozing and radiant, hugging his pillow tight against her chest. He had let out the breath he had been holding and everything was perfect in the world again.

Day after day, Stiles discovered little habits that contradicted her love for tidiness and organization. He enjoyed making her realize them to see her cheeks redden in embarrassment and hear her trying to get herself out of it.

She could lay her glass on the wooden table without thinking about consequences, like the condensation printing the shape of the glass on the furniture.

Just like her shoes, her jacket would be often carelessly thrown on the back of a chair and she would forget it for a few days until she would throw another jacket on top of it and begin to look for the first one without having any idea of its location. Stiles always knew where it was but kept teasing her, only helping her when she would shut him up with a kiss, her hands gripping at his shirt.

She didn't always throw out the cartons of yogurt, leaving them on the table after breakfast, and would always put the egg boxes with the rest of the recycling instead of its own designated bin.

It was funny how she could forget little things like that, but she could remember every mathematical formula she'd ever learned.

Those _bugs_ like Lydia called them were so tiny and domestic it only made her more perfect in his eyes.

Stiles paid attention to everything, it had always been like that anyway.

Since he had understood that having a sheriff for a father meant that he could listen to his conversations to discover the most wicked things about the town, he had spent his life being hyperaware of his environment.

There was a time when it had been a curse. He would start at any unexpected sound, having to use sleeping pills to not wake up in the night. Always carrying the bruises that his nightmares left under his eyes with their bony fingers.

But those days were behind him and his observant nature was nothing but a blessing now.

He understood one day that his constant presence, his relentless attention to details were helping Lydia to stay grounded. Whenever he would see her stare turn distant, whenever she seemed to lose her grip on reality and let her mind wander too far away, he would anchor her back to him and lead her back to existence with simple remarks about things she said she wanted to do or wanted to explain to him.

Among other things, getting her to focus on reading to him or cooking with him always worked.

The day they celebrated their first substantial saving with an expensive bottle of wine and a good meal, Lydia told him with teary eyes that she was afraid of destroying him, that she was afraid of not giving him as much as he was giving her, that she was afraid of not knowing if she was still someone without him, that he deserved someone real, not the shadow of an old school crush.

Not a damaged girl who had built a wall so thick around her she was afraid she may have rotted behind it, suffocated with the lack of oxygen and turned translucent without any light.

He told her to get his wallet and to open it.

She did and let out a sob mixed with a shy laughing breath.

"You kept it?" She asked with a shaking voice, unable to take her eyes off the note with the smiley face she had written on their first morning in Granada. "Why?" She raised her head to see him smiling at her with his usual fondness that made her melt.

"Because that's who you are, Lyds." He took her hands in his, trying to make her focus on him. "Because you're not just the idea of an old school crush, you're an actual person who helps me remember how life could be. I kept it because _this_ – " He let go of her hands to take the note from her. " _This_ is who I want to remember when you'll realize what an idiot I am and how wonderful your life could be – "

"No, Stiles, I – "

He cut her off, shaking his head.

"Lydia, listen to me, please." He took his chair to sit closer to her, nesting her hands in his own again. "This is who I want to remember when you'll have recovered from everything and leave to live your life. An independent Lydia, strong and confident enough to draw a smiley face on a note." They both laughed through their breath and Lydia looked down.

"But, Stiles – "

"But mostly," he took her chin between his fingers, cutting her off again. "Happy. I want to remember how happy you were, how carefree you could let yourself be when you managed to tune out all those voices in your head, this ache in your chest, this nagging pain on your hip." He let his fingers trail over her shirt to trace the scar that had been driving her crazy lately. Lydia shuddered and quickly wiped off a tear on her cheek. Stiles gulped and resumed in a hushed voice. "It makes me feel alive. _You_ make me feel alive in a way I thought I would never know again. I was dead inside, Lydia. Before I met you, I was a shadow, some ghost haunting nameless cities, looking for another ghost. I changed my name so many times I can't count. I've been everything, did every possible job. I forgot who I was. And you help me remember. I kept the note because one day, I know you'll leave and I'll be at peace with that because you're giving me so much that I can't bear the idea of you staying with me out of habit. You deserve more, you deserve the world. And I'm just an idiot holding onto you to keep his head out of the water. You let me do it for now and I'm so grateful. So, when you'll decide that's enough, I'll still have your smiley-face. You're real Lydia, you just don't know your shape yet. You didn't rot behind a wall you would have built. At worst, you hid yourself behind venetian blinds and you're learning how to open them. That's all."

Silence stretched a few seconds between them before Lydia opened her mouth and quickly dried her eyes.

"Stiles," she shook her head, gripping tightly at his hands and spoke slowly. "I'm not leaving you."

"But you will."

"I'm not. I won't. Not today, not tomorrow…."

Her chin was trembling a little with stifled sobs but there was so much determination in her teary stare that Stiles couldn't do anything else but believe her. He cupped her jaw, kissing her slowly on her already parted lips. Lydia sighed against his mouth and closed her eyes. She laid her forehead against his and whispered.

"I'm not leaving you, okay?"

"You're not?"

"I'm not."

"You're not."

They kissed again, not knowing who's tears left this salty taste on their lips.

When they eventually leaned back on their chair, still holding firmly onto each other, Lydia let out a laughing sob.

"I got mascara all over your face, I'm sorry." Stiles laughed, letting Lydia clean his face with her thumb. "I must look like a panda."

They snorted and Stiles took a tissue to wipe off the mascara under Lydia's eyes. "A sexy panda then."

It made Lydia's lips stretch in a thin smile.

"It scares me how much I need you," Lydia whispered, breaking the silence.

"I know. I feel the same sometimes… But we'll learn." Stiles leaned forward to take her in his arms, burying his face in her hair. "We'll learn together, okay?"

He felt her nod against his neck and continued "Besides, a little co-dependency never killed anyone, right?"

She snorted and left the comfort of his shoulder to roll her eyes and kiss his smirk away.

Yellow.

It really was all yellow.

xxxxxx

On a Friday night, one of the American farmworkers got into an accident and had to be brought to the hospital. He couldn't speak Polish so Lydia was asked to come with him to help with translations. She left a note for Stiles, telling him not to worry if he didn't see her when he came back.

After Lydia explained what happened to one of the nurses and helped filling out all the necessary forms, she was asked to sit in the waiting room.

She had never liked hospitals. Despite herself, she would always be brought back to the night Peter attacked her. But this place, this room in particular was making her more uncomfortable than any other hospital she had seen.

The long and thin neon lamps on the ceiling bathed the room in a harsh white and greenish light, making everyone look more tired and nauseous than they probably were. Every once in a while, a cold draft would bring a smell of medicine and disinfecting product.

Not a single plant, only a few plastic chairs arranged against the walls with a coffee table at the centre and months old magazines.

Grey walls. Grey floor. No windows.

Lydia shuddered and adjusted herself on her seat. She was starting to feel physically uncomfortable and it was getting harder and harder to not scratch her itching scar.

Time was going by very slowly. Doctors and nurses would come and go without paying the slightest attention to those people who were doing nothing else but waiting.

Lydia was starting to doze off when her phone rang, startling everyone in the quiet room. They all glared at her but her smile grew instantly when she saw who the intruder was.

"Hey babe, is everything alright?" Hearing Stiles's voice warmed her up immediately.

"Babe?" she scoffed, "If we are giving in to nicknames, I'm vetoing this one."

"Don't blame me, the friend of the guy who had the accident told us the incredible story of the lucky bastard who got to go to the hospital with a redheaded babe… I'll spare you the details but the word _babe_ was used several times and I can't get it out of my head." He laughed softly, "I tried to explain to him that your hair was actually strawberry blonde and that you had a Field's Medal but he didn't seem to get anything I was saying."

"Stiles, -"

Everyone around Lydia looked pissed. Stiles had the habit to speak loudly when he would tell a story and the room was so quiet she was sure they all could hear him. She tried to get his attention but he kept rambling on.

"Some guys are just the worst, you know? And then, the farmer's wife came to talk to me and you know what she told me? She speaks a little English and – "

He was cut off by a groan that escaped Lydia's lips. Her scar was starting to burn.

"Lydia? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Stiles, I – " People were starting to show their exasperation so she kept her voice to the bare minimum. "I have to hang up, I'm making too much noise."

"Wait – "

She hung up, smiling apologetically to no one in particular. Her phone rang with a message a second after.

Stiles – _What's wrong?_

Lydia couldn't help but smile fondly.

Lydia – _I told you, it's nothing. My scar is just a little itchy._

Stiles – _A little? That wasn't a *little groan*, that was the same noise you made the other night when your scar was burning_.

She didn't answer right away, losing herself in the memory of Stiles's cold lips on her burning hip.

Stiles – _Lydia?_

Stiles – _Lydia, answer me._

Stiles – _I'm not gonna stop until you answer._

Stiles – _Is your scar burning again?_

Lydia – _Yes. But I'm fine._

Stiles – _Are you?_

Lydia rolled her eyes and smiled. He wouldn't let it go, she knew it.

Lydia – _I'm fine but it's starting to burn, my skin is on fire and I can't go outside because I have to wait here. Doctors could come any minute._

Stiles – _You're sure I can't call you?_

Lydia – _Yes, Stiles. I'll be fine, don't worry._

Stiles – _You remember what I did last time?_

Stiles – _It worked, right?_

Stiles – _You could try to picture it._

Stiles – _You know, power of imagination and all…_

Her eyes were almost watery at this point and she hissed in pain. But she nibbled at her lips to bite back a smile that would have looked far too suspicious because the memories quickly flooded her mind and she eventually closed her eyes, letting them invade her senses.

Without knowing why, her scar had begun to be itchier. Everyday a little more. That night, it had begun to burn, making it impossible to fall asleep and making it harder and harder to breathe. Her constant tossing and turning had woken up Stiles.

They had taken a look at her scar and he had covered his mouth with his hand to hide the fact the he was freaking out because it was swollen and redder than ever, almost black. He had tried to use a wet washcloth to cool her skin down but she couldn't stand any fabric. So, he had done the only thing that had come to his mind and used his tongue and mouth instead.

Lydia could still feel his hand trailing goose bumps on her stomach and his lips slowly wetting and kissing her scar. His nose would nudge the underside of her breast every time he would get to the top of her ribcage and she vividly remembered trying to conceal any moan that could betray any sign that she was really enjoying it.

She could still feel his wet tongue going all the way along her scar, along her hip. His mouth alternating between kissing her skin and licking it. His big hands pinning her waist down and his strong and safe body above her own. She had felt her own body soften and let itself get modelled by him. Her skin giving up, being all his.

She inhaled, exhaled and without her noticing, the burning sensation slowly wore off. When it became bearable again, she opened her eyes and realized her phone had been buzzing in her hands the entire time. Stiles had been rambling on about things he had read about the power of the human mind before starting to use his freaking-out-text-tone because she wasn't answering.

Lydia – _You know, I'm trying to remember but I'm not sure I remember correctly._

Lydia – _Maybe you could remind me when I get home?_

She laughed to herself and quickly typed something else to avoid making him think she was flirting with him over texts in a _hospital_. Besides, people were starting to throw questioning looks at her.

Lydia – _No, but for real, don't worry. It worked last time and I'm actually feeling better._

Stiles – _Okay, good._

Stiles – _I can refresh your memory whenever you want, you know…_

Stiles – _Just ask_

Stiles – _If you want to_

Stiles - _Of course_

A nervous chuckle escaped Lydia's mouth. She could almost picture him sighing in annoyance and cursing himself for sending those texts.

Lydia – _I'll keep that in mind ;)_

A man frowned in front of her when she raised her head, smiling and faintly blushing.

Lydia – _You have to stop making me laugh, I'm really making enemies here._

Stiles – _I'm not sorry, not gonna lie_.

Stiles – _Do you really feel better?_

Stiles – _You're not lying?_

Lydia – _I'm not lying. I really feel better_

Lydia – _Thank you…_

Stiles – _My pleasure_.

Stiles - _;)_

The sigh she let out was purposely loud this time and she didn't lift her head to see the reactions of her neighbour. She was overwhelmed with affection for her sweet dork and she wasn't going to conceal it any longer.

Lydia – _You should go to sleep. You must be exhausted._

Stiles – _Nah, we have tomorrow off, it's alright._

Stiles – _Oh and I haven't finished my story about the farmers' wife!_

Stiles – _So, she came to me and tried to explain as best as she could in English that my "woman" was at the hospital but that I shouldn't worry. Cute, right?_

Lydia – _Oh, so I'm your woman now?_

Stiles – _I knew you would like it :)_

They kept on texting until there wasn't any burning or itching sensation in Lydia's body. When he told her his phone was about to die and his stomach was starting to growl, she felt as relaxed as if he had actually been there.

The glacial atmosphere was still chilling her to the bone but the ghost of Stiles's touch was lingering all over her, protecting her somehow, providing her warmth.

In the background, the regular and distant _beep_ of a machine played a morbid lullaby and Lydia felt herself drifting off to sleep again, closing her eyes longer and longer, opening them slower and slower. Her eyelids seemed to weigh heavier each time.

After a while, she opened her eyes and found herself standing in front of a door. She looked around, panicked and with no idea about where she could be, with no memory of getting up.

Her stare returned to the door.

Some strange force was pulling her toward this room, and she was unable to stop herself from opening the door and stepping inside.

There was a man at a young girl's bedside. He raised his head when he saw Lydia coming in and smiled at her.

She lifted her head and met his stare. It seemed to break the spell she was under because she quickly shook her head, blinked a few times before grasping where she was.

"Sorry, I- " She was going to resume in English before shaking her head once again, cursing her brain that seemed to be slower than usual. "Przepraszam - "

"It's okay, you can speak English," the man had cut her off with a perfect accent, which clearly indicated that he was a native English speaker. "Can I help you?"

"I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't have come in. Sorry"

Lydia started to walk back to the door, feeling embarrassed and abashed at what had made her open the door.

"No, stay. Maybe I can help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes, you did come in for a reason, right?"

"I… I'm not sure, actually."

"Then stay."

Her eyes drifted to the young girl on the bed. The force she had felt was drawing her closer to this girl.

"You can come closer."

The man's deep voice broke her out of her trance and she realized she had taken steps forward.

There was something about this man. She wanted to trust him and she knew she could. It was a strange sensation.

His face was round and his deep brown eyes were intensely fixated on her. She didn't feel uncomfortable under his stare. It was the kind of look she missed her entire childhood, the one a father would reserve for his daughter.

He was holding out his hand and she wanted to grab it.

Something flickered in his eyes, as if he was trying to put a name on her face but she quickly disregarded the thought that this man might know her. How would it be possible?

Her eyes drifted to the young girl who hadn't opened her eyes and all the sudden, she saw herself on a similar bed when she was a teenager and had been attacked by Peter. Just after her short talk with the policeman, she had been brought to the hospital and hadn't woken up for weeks. It had taken so long for her skin to scar that she had been in a constant state of overtiredness after that.

She was staring at the girl, forgetting about the man a few seconds.

"What happened to her?"

"I think you can guess."

Lydia felt her heart quicken and she looked at the man with wide opened eyes. Could he read her mind? Did he actually know her? She suddenly wanted to go, leave this room and those walls that seemed to move closer and closer.

"I'm sorry?"

The man smiled at her and took her hand. His hand was warm and firm which oddly seemed to be enough to soothe her immediately.

"Don't be afraid, I mean you no harm. I promise. This girl is a friend of a young boy I know very well. She's been attacked, bitten…" He paused, looking intently at Lydia, almost as if he hesitated to go on. "You know what I mean, right?"

Lydia's mouth was dry, she had never met someone beside Stiles who knew about the supernatural. It was making her dizzy, a strange feeling made of both excitement and anxiety. She contented herself with a slight nod.

"The same thing happened to you, right? You didn't turn."

"How… How do you know?"

He smiled at her secretively.

"Let's say that I notice things. I've lived my entire life in this world, I know its codes. And - " He trailed off, scanning her face before resuming. "You remind me of someone I tried to help years ago when I was still in California. A teenage girl had been bitten but she didn't turn."

Lydia nodded, barely paying attention to the inquiring looks the man kept giving her.

"Do you know what's going to happen?" she asked, pointing vaguely at the girl but hoping the answer could apply to her as well.

"Yes and no… I have my suspicions." He turned his head to look at the girl and lay his hand over hers. "She's been there for more than a week and she isn't waking up. But she isn't dying either. It's impossible for the bite to have zero effect… If you're not dead, it must create some bond between you and death. Some sort of connection." He paused and raised his head to look at Lydia again, "You can feel it when someone is in danger or is about to die, right?"

She nodded again and looked down. A wave of sadness overwhelmed her at the thought of Allison and the agonizing pain she had felt when she had died. Her scar started to pull and she winced.

"I'm sorry," the man said, taking her hands in his again. The same sensation of serenity flooded her body and mind. "It wasn't my intention to bring back painful memories."

She remained silent a little while and when she had collected her wits, she remembered what Stiles had once said to her. Something about her being manipulated by Peter to help him come back to life.

"What do you mean by _connection_?"

"Well… You have some kind of link between our world and death. As if you were able to draw energy from each of the worlds and interact with both.

"And this connection… Would it be possible for me to use it to resurrect someone?"

The man stiffened his back "What do you mean?"

She inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to gather all the details from Stiles's story and to ignore the sharp pain on her hip. "I don't remember anything but I've been told that the man… or whatever he is… died shortly after biting me. But he still found a way to enter my mind or something and manipulated me so I could help him resurrect." She paused a moment, struggling to read the expression on the man's face and continued with an indecisive voice. Maybe she shouldn't confide in this stranger but she was dying to find the still missing pieces of the giant puzzle that was her life. "I was wondering if this could have something to do with this connection."

He stared at her, frowning and seemed to lose himself in his reflection, in a memory.

"I guess so, yes…" He smiled faintly before standing up slowly to pace around the small room with his arms crossed over his chest. His thoughts seemed to take shape as he talked. "I asked myself a similar question years ago… But I never found any solid answer." He paused to look at her briefly with a fixed stare and continued. "If that's what happened, it would mean that in order to live, he would still need you. He would need to draw energy _from_ you, from this connection to stay alive." He stopped to look at her, talking a little slower. "If that's what happened, you must have lived with this negative energy constantly surrounding you… creating some kind of… inexplicable void. The more he would move closer to life, the more you would near this void… preventing you from creating any form of positive energy or experiencing happiness. He would always swallow it. But I may be mistaken, I don't feel this darkness around you."

Lydia was speechless. Her mind was blank, her mouth dry and it felt like her entire body was just a giant burning scar. This total stranger she had met minutes ago who knew nothing about her had just summarized her entire existence.

All of a sudden, it became too much. The pain spread in her entire body like a bolt of lightning and she hissed in agony, biting the inside of her cheek to muffle the scream that was about to burst out of her throat.

Feeling that her legs were giving way, she bent over her knees, one of her hand grabbing her waist and the other one reaching for something to hold on, only finding thin air. She was about to give up, fall and scream with all her strength when she felt strong arms pulling her up and sitting her on a chair.

She tried to open her eyes but everything was blurry behind the tears that had flooded them. Two silhouettes were standing in front of her but the buzzing in her ears was too loud to hear what they were saying. There were voices in her head trying to scream louder than all the others, trying to get her attention. Lydia was certain that if she couldn't make them stop, they would eventually crush her brain. Her eyes fell closed and she found herself in front of the monster of her nightmares. She screamed in terror and agony and the monster seemed to falter, the image blurred and when her eyes slowly opened, she realized she had been repeating over and over the same name. _Allison_.

The pain was slowly fading away.

In front of her, the man was watching her in concern and a boy who must have been the same age as the girl in the bed was kneeling in front of her. He had taken her face between his hand and his forehead was creased in concentration. Lydia gasped when she noticed his glowing yellow eyes and the black veins on his arms.

The man laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, telling him to stop in Polish with a low and reassuring voice. The boy released her head, took a step back and sighed, looking exhausted.

"What… what happened?" Lydia didn't recognize her voice. It was hoarse and she had to clear her throat to speak audibly.

"That's Eliot," the man still had his hand on the boy's shoulder and Lydia nodded, grateful without knowing why exactly. "And I'm Alan, I didn't even introduce myself."

Eliot looked as if he was about to pass out, so Alan took a chair and made him sit, giving him water from a bottle on the night stand.

"Lydia," she managed to articulate before taking the glass of water Alan offered her. She met his stare and that same look of recognition flickered in his eyes.

"Eliot's the boy I was telling you about, Lydia," Alan resumed with the same deep and steady voice that made her feel taken care of. "He has some… supernatural abilities. He's a werewolf. He came in just when you started to pass out and tried to take your pain away."

Lydia stared at him wide-eyed, thanking him in Polish but he was still too exhausted to talk and just nodded with a faint smile. "How… how can he do that?" she asked, turning her gaze toward Alan.

He shrugged, "I don't know how exactly but I guess it has something to do with the fact that werewolves are able to sense emotions. If they concentrate enough, they can manipulate this energy and transform it somehow. But," he cleared his throat and took a stool to sit next to Lydia. "Does this happen a lot?"

She lost herself in her thoughts, nibbling at her lip and trying to make sense out of everything she had felt in the last few minutes and started to explain as much as she could everything she knew, launching into details about her scar that used to pull whenever she would feel an emptiness inside of her, whenever she would have nightmares about the monster and that seemed to pull harder lately, almost to the point of burning for no apparent reason.

Alan stood up and began to slowly pace again.

"You're saying that you used to have nightmares about the werewolf that bit you? And that it made your scar twinge?"

Lydia silently nodded, waiting for him to unravel the threads for her.

"Are you sure they were just nightmares?"

She shuddered, remembering how real some of her nightmares would feel, how sometimes she wouldn't know if she was the one making decisions for her actions. "No. They were something else. They felt… like reality. Would it be possible?"

Alan shrugged and looked apologetically at her. "I have no idea, I'm sorry. It's possible though. But you say that now, you can feel pain without having those nightmares?" He barely gave her the time to nod before resuming. "Would it be possible that you found a way to fight back?" He asked after stopping in front of the window.

"What do you mean?"

He turned to look at her and stepped forward. "I told you that I couldn't feel any darkness around you and it seems that the pain in your scar isn't linked anymore to the void you felt. The aching burn you're feeling could be your body reacting to an attack, the consequence of your body trying to protect you, to keep you grounded and avoid letting yourself drown when he tries to reach out. Like an allergic reaction."

Lydia shrugged, smiling faintly. "It may sound idiotic, but… I think I found a source of light, something stronger than this darkness." Her stare turned distant and she sighed, feeling like her entire body and soul were aching for Stiles. She resumed with a smile in her voice "It's like the minute I decided to focus on something else, on someone else than me, I learnt how to breathe again."

Alan gazed at her with warm eyes and nodded, smiling at her the way Lydia had always imagined a proud father would smile at his kid.

"Let me tell you a story. There's a really young boy in this hospital who told it to me a few days ago. He has a degenerative illness and the doctors think he won't live more than two more years. He told me that his parents were farmers and had a farm with a big henhouse. An epidemic had broken out not so long ago and had killed all the hens. One cock managed to survive though. The boy was scared for it because he knew that hens and cocks weren't solitary animals and usually, when they would find themselves alone, they would let themselves die. But, he had heard something about a hen that had lost its entire family and had found itself alone. It had started to let itself starve out but had a resistant metabolism. Farmers kept feeding it, but they would always find the seeds untouched. Time went by and one day, the feeding trough was empty. The hen had eaten, had just forgotten its resolve and started to live again. The boy hoped that his cock would do the same thing." Alan paused a few seconds to smile with a faraway look. "And do you know how he concluded his story? He told me that sometimes, happiness wasn't as hard as it seemed. You need to drop what's bothering you, letting it trail somewhere behind and you learn how to live with this weight. Sometimes, you just need to give yourself enough time to learn how to forget."


	11. The universe within reach

Lydia had spent so much time talking to Alan, asking him all the questions that were still unanswered, that when she came back to the waiting room, she was told that the farmworker had been released and found his own way back to the farm.

She took a taxi, gave her address and remained silent the entire drive, deep in thoughts.

She wasn't seeing or hearing anything and Alan's words kept looping in her head. She barely paid attention to the streetlights regularly bathing the back of the driver's head in a pale yellowish light or to the radio crackling the same folk tune, over and over again in the quietness of the car.

Even if Alan hadn't been able to guarantee her anything, his answers had echoed in her. He had confirmed what she had been hoping to be true for a while. Being near Stiles was helping her to fight against the monster.

Her light in the darkness. Her frail ray of sunlight that had no idea what a wonder of nature he was. Heaven-sent. Ignoring his strength, his power to pierce through the thickest clouds and light up the sky in pink, yellow and orange during long and heavy rains.

The one that was making her slowly accept the idea that everything was still possible, that the world was hers, that the Moon could be within her reach if she wanted it.

But she didn't want it.

She wanted to promise him the Earth and share the stars with him, travel astride on the back of a comet to pick up some asteroids between Mars and Jupiter. Sit on the verge of the Milky Way and observe the galaxies slow dancing and spinning around until they irremediably collide, shaking everything down to the atoms contained in all things to eventually create more universes to explore.

As far back as Lydia could remember, something had always helped her understand the world, understand some things faster than anyone else. The backseat she was on, her hair, the streetlights along the road, the doe that ran to hide in the forest, the lion that roared, the dust at her feet, the air she breathed, the Moon, the Sun, the Earth… Everything, everything was made out of the same raw material, the same atoms.

So, when she came back to their apartment and caught sight of Stiles struggling to keep his eyes opened while watching something he probably didn't understand on the television, Lydia could swear she saw the light of a glowing sun reflect in his eyes.

The quiet slam of the door made him turn his head and he sent her a radiant smile, telling her he had left lasagnas on the table for her.

It was so unaffected and yet so intimate that Lydia couldn't stop the warmth she felt in her chest to completely overwhelm her, forbidding her to react with anything more than a smile. At this moment, the ground around them could have collapsed and the roof could have been swept away by a tornado, nothing would have diverted her attention from the simplicity of his words and the universe of possibilities they were hiding.

It was elementary for him to stay awake until she came back, elementary to make sure she would have something to eat at the end of her day.

And the pull in her chest was nothing but elementary.

The apartment was so small it took Lydia four steps to reach the couch and kiss him, sighing and whispering an almost inaudible "thank you" against the corner of his mouth. She smiled as he interweaved his fingers with her locks, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek with a brush of his lips.

Lydia straightened up to head to the open kitchen and heat up her dinner. She came back behind the couch and slowly ran her hand back and forth through Stiles's hair in the meantime. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his body dissolving into millions of shivers. Lydia kept absently going, lulled by his sighs until the microwave broke them out of their trance.

Stiles felt her fingers leave his scalp and he held her wrist, kissing it with a sleepy smile that would always weaken Lydia's knees. She bent forward, leaning on the back of the couch on each side of his head and kissed him deeply, the backward angle forcing Stiles to lift his chin a little.

She grabbed her plate, a glass of water and came back to the couch, sitting next to him and setting down her glass on the small coffee table.

"What are you watching?" She scoffed as a man with a hat that must have belonged to a long-gone ancestor appeared on the screen and whispered something about an imminent danger before remaining silent as the cameraman made a close-up on his fixed stare.

Stiles shrugged, half asleep and half laughing, "I have honestly no idea… I think it's a series of documentaries about apes around the world or something… This guy is crazy, he filmed gorillas earlier. They are fucking scary!" Lydia chuckled and looked at him as something sparkled in his eyes and he turned his head toward her, grinning, "Do you think were-gorillas exist?"

She shook her head, laughing softly, "You know, I met my first werewolf at the hospital today."

"You…" Stiles blinked a few times, giving himself time to process the new information before straightening up with a start. "What?"

She laid a reassuring hand on his forearm, smiling at him and she launched into the details of her strange encounter while finishing her dinner.

Once the plate was laid on the coffee table, she leaned closer to Stiles, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck and stretching her legs out on his lap.

He placed his cheek against her hair, letting her voice engulf his entire being. His fingers began to absently trace circles and zigzags against her legs and knees that she had freed from their thin panty hose a little earlier.

He listened to her talking, knowing that if he had been less tired, he may have been more concerned about that man popping up out of nowhere with all the answers. But it was impossible for him to focus on an idea more than a few seconds. Not with the warmth of Lydia's skin under his palms. Not with the feeling of her body constantly pressing closer against his own, making the soft fabric of her skirt hike slowly up.

It would be a thought for future-Stiles.

Lydia felt his fingers grasping more tightly at her calves, massaging in small circles the muscles she knew where sore from walking in high heels all day long and couldn't stop her voice faltering slightly.

She wasn't paying attention to the muffled _mmh_ Stiles was regularly answering but at one point, she felt two of his nails brush the skin under her knees and she realized that none of them had talked in a while. Her blood pulsed faster through her body and she held her breath for a second, feeling warmth spreading everywhere. Absently, her mouth nuzzled up against his neck and her lips parted in a silent gasp when his fingers tentatively separated her legs right under her knees, making her skin erupt in goose bumps and her heart beat harder.

She would have gladly exchanged every single shudder that had woken her up too often in a sweat for an eternity of those shivers. If she could have exchanged the memory of Peter's claws flaying and disemboweling her for entire pages covered in memories of those fingers that seemed to always leave an electric imprint in their wake on her skin, she would have done it in a snap.

She shifted her left leg against his chest and felt Stiles hold his breath when he let his hand slide against her inner thigh, barely grazing her skin.

When she raised her head to look at him, she didn't want to smile flirtatiously at him or whisper things in his ear in a teasing voice. Never had she been more serious, felt this vulnerable and open. For the first time, she realized she had no idea what to do and her brain seemed to have left her alone, with no questions to answer. The same solemnity could be read on Stiles's feature, his eyes displaying the same vulnerability.

Her lips hesitantly brushed his, just like she had done when she had kissed a boy for the first time. Slowly and with her eyes wide opened to be sure that all the details would be etched on her memory. Stiles slid his hand from the inside of her thigh to her knee before cupping her cheek to pull her closer to him and eventually kissed her with that same hesitant look.

Lydia was slowly realizing that this kiss had nothing to do with the ones they had already shared. There was no urgency, no despair or the excuse of daily habits. She felt a gnawing rumble deep inside of her that wanted to come out. Her skin tingled at the mere prospect of being touched again by those hands that must have belonged to a painter or a musician in a former life. Those hands that she would allow to play against her body as much as they would want until they would give her a new shape. A more ethereal one maybe.

She leaned forward again and had to close her eyes after having spent too much time staring at the sun hidden in his irises. Something soft and wet brushed her lips and she smiled, pressing her entire body closer to his until she felt a warm breath graze the tip of her nose. Slowly, so Lydia didn't notice at first, Stiles began to stroke his nose against hers and she let out a laughing sigh full of affection when she realized that the one who had glided his hand higher on her upper thigh to hike the rest of her skirt fabric up was giving her the most innocent Eskimo kiss.

Everything was happening in slow motion. She could feel each nerve, every inch of her skin being reawakened by his strokes and she let herself get completely carried away without having a single idea about what sounds were coming out of her mouth. She knew she was letting out soft moans and sighs against his lips when she was feeling his fingers going back and forth between her knee and her inner thigh but her brain couldn't go farther than the mere realization.

The old Lydia would have laughed at her for being so willing and pliable in his arms but it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered now because at that moment, there was nothing clearer than the words "being alive", something the old Lydia never truly understood. It wasn't just a biological state: the ability to grow, metabolize, adapt, reproduce and respond to stimuli. It was more than that. Because at that moment, there was no biological reason for her blood to pulse strong through her veins or for this adrenaline to flood her body.

No other reason than the need to feel Stiles's touch everywhere and _feel_ alive.

Even the sensation of the time passing by was different. It was all happening around a few moments of consciousness that were quickly swallowed up by something more deep-rooted.

Time didn't exist anymore. It was slowed down, stopped and accelerated together but mostly, it didn't control anything. As if they had opened a door in the space-time continuum to build a nest that would only belong to them.

Lydia knew that at one moment, she had opened her mouth to taste his tongue against hers and she had felt an overwhelming emotion, making her almost cry while confessing in a voice barely audible and filled with something reverential "You taste like home".

As if the word _home_ had once had a meaning to her, as if it wasn't new for her to feel like that.

As if all this emptiness that had built around and inside her over the years had only existed to give Stiles enough space to leave his joys, his pains and spread his roots where he had always belonged.

At that moment, Stiles had his right arm around her shoulders to press her body closer against his. His other arm was laying against her right leg, his hand following the crease of her hip under her panties's lace. He leaned forward to lay his forehead against hers and replied in a panting voice, knowing that he wasn't making any sense.

He told her about the scent of her shampoo and of her perfume that had both disappeared, vanished in her wake during the day to be replaced with a scent that was more personal, intimate. His favourite scent. He told her about her make-up that had almost entirely faded at this hour of the day, showing the faint redness of her skin and the light rings under her eyes, making her even prettier, more real.

Lydia heard all the _I love you's_ hiding behind those words, those _I love you's_ that Stiles kept screaming at the top of his lungs and stunning her. To be sure that he knew he had been heard, that she was there to delicately catch those frail words and send them back to him in the most beautiful case she could find, she told him she wouldn't need any make-up to conceal any sign of tiredness when he would come back earlier in the evening and leave later in the morning because she never slept better than when he was by her side the entire night.

It almost took Stiles's breath away and he kissed her without any hesitation, trying to find in her mouth the air he was missing. He heard her sighing his name and felt his muscles twitch when her fingers brushed the skin under his navel and lower.

He hoisted her up on his lap before delicately laying her head against one of the couch pillows. Incapable of moving, he remained motionless, gazing at her in wonder from above. His Lydia, his miracle of nature who didn't belong to anyone else but herself and yet who was too afraid to let herself go, fearing to break him. Losing himself in the wet green of her eyes and in her smile filled with promises, he barely felt her legs tighten their grip around his hips. It took an affectionate soft laugh from Lydia to make him aware of her hands unbuttoning her blouse under his astonished gaze.

She slowly straightened up to get rid of the blouse and took Stiles's face in her hands in the same movement, kissing his nose and his lips while laying him down against her. His fingers grazed her skin from her hip to her breast and she whispered his name in a sigh when his hand cupped her left breast under the delicate black lace before getting completely rid of it.

He kissed her deeply and laid kisses over her jaw, her neck, lingering on her collarbone. Her lips stretched in a smile when she felt his tongue gliding all along her scar, imitating what he had done to ease her aches but finally wrapping her breast in a hot and wet embrace. If she had been in another mood, she would have make a sarcastic comment about it, making him notice that he had definitely not done that last time but Stiles didn't even have a lopsided smile when he lifted his head. There was something almost holy in the way he looked at her, as if he wasn't worthy of her smile. So instead, she tried to kiss his doubts away, tried to convey with loving strokes on his chest and sides how much she wanted him, how much she _needed_ him.

Stiles kept worshiping Lydia's skin with kisses. He was relishing the thought that her taste would linger on his tongue for days. The warm taste underneath her breasts, the softness of her shoulders and the slightly saltier taste of sweat where her clothes and underwear had left light red marks on her skin. He couldn't help but smirk a little when he slid his tongue around and under her navel, making her hips jerk with anticipation. She whispered a low and laughing "shut up" that turned into a noise she didn't recognize when she felt his fingers hook her underwear and slowly rolling them down her legs, teasing the skin on her thighs, before replacing it with his lips.

She would have been unable to describe what happened next. All she felt was the softness of Stiles's hair under her left palm, the warmth of his tongue trying to find the angles that made her moan louder and how right it felt to have his fingers pumping inside of her.

Her entire body was nothing but violent jerks and electricity. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Automatically, she covered her eyes with her right arm, as if she was ashamed of the louder moans that were coming out of her throat when Stiles sped the pace up in this perfect angle.

When she felt her entire body tense deliciously and it all became too much and not enough at the same time, she faintly pulled at the root of his hair, panting and trying to articulate his name. It was enough to have him rush at her lips, uncover her eyes and kiss her long and deep while clinging to her right leg resting along his hip.

Lydia managed somehow to make him understand that he was wearing too many clothes because the next thing she saw was his cheeks take a faint red shade. "But I don't have any… you know…"

He looked down and Lydia instantly melted. "You're adorable." She laughed softly and took his chin in her fingers to kiss him. "I…" Lydia trailed off, feeling her own cheeks redden. "I may have bought some the other day…"

It was Stiles turn to laugh softly. "You did?"

"Yeah, they're in my nightstand. So… We could… Go over there. If you want to?" She nervously tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth and eventually grinned when Stiles took her earlobe in his mouth, whispering "okay" against her neck.

They stood up and Lydia took a condom before laying down on their bed, watching Stiles take his clothes off, mesmerized by his unusual poise. His movements were calm and collected when he settled next to her, kissing her leisurely while she was switching their position to straddle him.

She had the smile of an angel and Stiles let her willingly take his hands in hers to pin them down on each side of his head and kiss him, whispering "let me" in his ear and mirroring the same position that had scared her so many months ago.

After a few tries, she saw the moment when he managed to slip inside her reflect in his eyes and she felt it in her entire body. Her name died on his lips while he closed his eyes.

Soon, the atmosphere was filled with their names that they kept repeating like a litany, like countless inarticulated promises of eternal love. Lydia eventually freed Stiles's hands, letting him place them on her hips to pull her closer, as if whatever they would do, there would always be too much distance between them. She straightened up above him leaning on his chest with her hands and tried in turn to commit to memory the melody of his groans and the music of her name pronounced by his swollen lips, following the rhythm their hips were setting like the most hallowed and sinful prayer.

When Stiles's movement became more frantic and rough, his hands gripped harder at her hips to still her above him. She changed the angle by burying her head in the crook of his neck, making them both groan with pleasure. With Lydia leaning her head on her forearms either side of his head, Stiles was completely engulfed by her. Her body, her scent, her hair and her panting voice in his ear that kept whispering everything that came to her mind.

Lydia felt her entire body tense one more time and she buried her head deeper in the crook of his neck, tightening her embrace around his head with her fingers gripping tighter at his hair. She kept whispering nonsense to his ear, getting high on the pulse between her legs and the electricity his throaty groans were sending through her veins. His body jerked a few more times before relaxing underneath her own.

He kissed her cheek, her shoulder and it felt so pure she couldn't resist the urge to kiss his lips lazily until their shallow breathing would even out. Stiles was tenderly stroking her sides with his knuckles but she could still feel his fingers gripping at her hips and secretly hoped that her skin would remember his touch to balance in an azure blue the red scars a monster had once left.

They eventually laid on their sides after Stiles had gotten up to dispose of the condom and they fell asleep in each other's arms without realizing it and without having exchanged anything other than stares, kisses and smiles.

A cold draft woke Lydia up. Her heart beat faster for a second before she felt Stiles's hand move from her waist to her hair, massaging her scalp to leisurely wake her up.

She opened her eyes, catching sight of the sky outside the window. The stars were less bright and the dark sky was slowly getting lighter. They must have slept a few hours. She turned slightly and her stare drifted to Stiles. He kissed her with a faint brush of his lips and whispered "Hi" in a smile against her forehead. She returned his smile, his kiss and got up, shivering when she only felt cold air around her.

Spotting a large blanket, she wrapped herself in it and gestured Stiles to follow her outside. The blanket was large enough for two and Stiles squeezed in beside Lydia, putting one of his arms around her waist and gripping the blanket tightly around them with the other.

They opened the door and got out, trying to walk without stepping on the blanket and laughing like two teenagers who would sneak out of their houses in the middle of the night for the first time.

Stiles's steps were too big for Lydia and she had to make him slow his pace down by tightening her grip on his hip. They sat with their backs against a tree and watched the stars and the moon gradually disappear, letting the sun take over and relieve them from their hard task of lighting up their way back home to the lost souls at night.

When they were too cold and too tired, they went back inside and snuggled up in their bed, sleeping peacefully until late in the afternoon without shifting their body away from each other once.

They spent the rest of the day in some sort of haze. Both of them had their day off. They went outside to enjoy the sun. The flowers and trees were starting to bud as spring approached.

Laying on a blanket in the shade of a weeping willow near a river and barely clothed, they forgot to eat, they forgot how to talk. They smiled at each other, at the birds, the sun and the clouds, simply enjoying each other's warmth.

Stiles would sometimes stroke Lydia's soft and warm skin under one of his plaid shirts she had put on, sliding along her thigh to slowly reach her stomach and her breasts. They would quietly sigh in each other's mouth while Lydia mirrored his actions until it would become too much and they would kiss long and deep.

She liked to tangle up her fingers in Stiles's hair at the nape of his neck. It was making him look straight in her eyes. With each stroke, each kiss she would give him, the sun in his eyes kept growing, getting more luminous, lighting and warming her up.

It was hard to explain but the hold this darkness always had had over her seemed to recede. It wasn't like those waves of warmth she was now used to feel when Stiles was near her, it was a more permanent sensation. As if the one on the other side of the darkness had finally stopped to draw energy from her, letting her do whatever she wanted with it.

The day went by way too quickly and reality came back on the next morning when they had to get up early and go to work.

After that, it took them almost an entire month to recover from their high and be able to look at the other without feeling the urge to ravish each other.

There were no words other than "urge" or "need" to describe what was going through their heads when their darkened eyes would meet or when their eager fingers would brush each other's skin.

Lydia needed to feel Stiles enter her, to feel him pulse strong and hard inside of her. It was sometimes the only way for her to remember how real and present in her life he was. Stiles needed that too. He craved Lydia's damp heat around him, wrapping him and allowing him to feel the beating of her heart through her blood vessels and her warm, swollen membranes. If he could, he would have entered her with his whole body to take refuge there, safe from the outside world with nothing else in his mind than trying to live in symbiosis with the only person that mattered now.

The tenderness and simplicity of their first time had been replaced by an endless cohort of groans and moans that had become as necessary and vital as oxygen. When they would end up biting each other in hectic kisses with wet eyes and rough gestures, they had the same feeling those who lost themselves in the desert must have.

Tired, thirsty and sun burnt when they would suddenly find water and, for the first time in ages, feel its coolness on their skin and down their throat. A salving coolness that came with a shooting pain made out of a thousand needles stinging them all at the same time.

They had lived their entire lives without having anything to look after and without forewarning, they found themselves with the most precious treasure they could ever wish for. It had to be protected, saved. The remaining journey could be long and they had so much to lose. Their way, their hopes, their mind. Each other.

They kissed with the despair of starvation. Each gesture leading them to sex was steered by three words they couldn't escape. _Need. Want. More_.

As though they had waited too long and were afraid the other one would vanish into oblivion if they weren't paying enough attention to the slightest details. The way Lydia was so lovingly looking at him when he was pulling at her hair with her head between his thighs or whenever she would let her body get completely and willingly controlled by his, whether he was pinning her down or making her look at them in the bathroom's mirror as he was slipping inside of her while whispering nonsense against the nape of her neck in a whimpering voice. Stiles couldn't describe the look she was giving him in those moments with any other words than _trust_. She was trusting him with everything and it overwhelmed him. Lydia loved seeing him like that, rough and confident. _She_ was making him feel confident. This look in his eyes was just as much intoxicating as the one he had when he was relishing under her control.

They kept obsessively open delicate jars to save all those images, sounds, tastes and scents, too afraid that the next day, they would wake up to a hurricane that would erase everything. That somehow, what they thought was reality was a mirage caused by their inability to open up and their fear to let their feelings out.

The times their dread was at its highest coincided with their most unrestrained and wild embraces. They could spend days not being able to find a semblance of gentleness. During those days, it wasn't unusual for them to end up crying in each other's arms, clinging so tight to the other that it was impossible for them to know where their body ended and the other began. Why couldn't they simply enjoy each other's presence like normal people do? How could they make it work if they weren't able to cope with the idea that they didn't _have_ to feel empty anymore?

If they had known this compulsive storage would eventually even out to let them appreciate in peace the beauty of the countless pictures the other had painted across their bare bodies, the permanent imprint the other had left in their wake and that would forever be their evening star, they would have figured sooner that their behaviour wasn't just about urgency.

It was about a hope.

A hope they used to think had been blighted by reality but had started to break through their griefs and layers of darkness: the hope of healing.

xxxxxx

Like any other storm, this one died down without warning, just the way it had appeared. Stiles opened his eyes one morning, his mouth feeling all fuzzy and his quiet mind still trapped in a sleepy haze. Something wasn't right but he couldn't tell what. After a little while, he realized that he wasn't used to waking up with such a calm and that was what had surprised him. He felt strangely close to those 18th century sailors who had fought days long against a raging sea and only realized the sea gods' fury had been appeased when they fell asleep without noticing.

He turned his head, expecting to find an empty space beside him (Lydia had tended to wake up with the lark lately) but was surprised to find her small feet crossed over her pillow. She was wrapped in their white sheet, letting him have the scratchy blanket, and was reading something while leaning on her elbows and chewing on a pen. Her feet were following an imaginary rhythm she was mouthing around the cap of the pen, making her look like the picture of innocence.

"Don't you work this morning?"

Stiles had hesitated before asking the question. He didn't want to disturb his contemplation of what he considered to be the actual painting of a Greek goddess. _Aphrodite reading with rosy cheeks_ he would have called it. His voice made her turn her head and a few strawberry blond locks stroked her naked shoulder. She smiled at him.

"No… And neither do you. I called sick for both of us earlier. We have food poisoning, poor us…"

"And they bought that?"

"Well, I used enough details to make it believable and to avoid any questions."

"You're a genius!"

She turned completely around, tightening the sheet around her and smiling knowingly at Stiles before squeezing in between his arms and neck. He kissed the top of her head and sighed.

"What were you reading?"

Lydia straightened up a little to look at him with a spark of enthusiasm in her eyes.

"That's why I wanted a day off… I looked into your mother's notebook and I think we can leave by the end of the month. Amsterdam could be a good start, she says it's perfect in spring and we could go anywhere we want after that since it's pretty central. What do you think?" Without waiting for an answer, she sat down to grab the notebook and the map that had been forgotten at their feet. "I say we use the entire day to plan everything. Not _everything_ everything but at least the most important. Like the countries, the cities, places we would like to see. I know we already talked about that at the beginning but it's been months, maybe there are things you wanted to see that you didn't think about before." She spoke while scattering all the documents around them, forcing Stiles to sit up with a simple stare when she figured she needed more space on the bed. After a few minutes of explaining her own ideas, she turned toward him. "Well, aren't you gonna say something? Tell me how you think we could organize our journey?"

Stiles failed to contain his grin, which only resulted in him getting kicked in the ribs. "I would but I'm just a mere mortal who uses blue just because it's pretty and you find it _random_ , may I remind you!" He ducked to avoid a pillow and they both laughed.

"That's true," Lydia resumed after getting her breath back. "But you could tell me what you think about that. Do you want to? Go to Amsterdam by the end of the month I mean."

"You mean stop getting kicked by cows and not having to wash away the smell of dung from my hair every day? Have you lost your mind, woman? That's basically paradise!"

"It's settled then!" She ignored the sarcasm and went back to her notes. "We leave by the end of the month!"

Stiles put his arm around her waist and lightly brushed his lips against her temple. "Absolutely."

"I-" Lydia turned her head slightly and nibbled at her lips, like she was holding something back. Stiles felt his heart stop when he saw her cheeks flush red. "Well, you know…" She looked down, almost ashamed of the words that had almost escaped her lips and cleared her throat to regain some composure.

"Yeah, I know…" Stiles's choked voice made her look up and stare at him. Who needed words when all she had to do was breathe and look in his eyes to be understood? If someone would take a picture of them right at that moment she knew how it would be titled. _Love on the tip of my tongue_ or something cheesy like that... To hell with cheesy, she loved him! Why would she be ashamed of that?

Stiles kissed her and there was no urgency in that kiss, it felt like a breath of fresh air. They found in their lazy kisses and languid strokes the door leading to the nest they had built somewhere in the space-time continuum and swore to never lose their way ever again. They stayed there a few hours. Having breakfast in bed, talking about ideas for their journey and finally, finally feeling _carefree_.

The universe had never been more beautiful than in the honey of Stiles's eyes, in the emerald of Lydia's. The universe had never smelled so good than in their body's scent when they would lay cuddled up against each other, motionless and orgasm-tired. The entire universe was there. In their sighs. In their "good mornings", their smirks. In his strokes. In his lasagnas. In her shampoo and the way she would untie her hair. In their toothbrushes next to each other in the bathroom.

Everywhere.

The universe was everywhere around them.

In them.

Like millions of galaxies that were still to be discovered.


	12. Of ghosts and silver lights

Two weeks before their departure, they were laying in bed after a long day at work. Lydia had a newspaper in hand and Stiles was attempting to read a book.

His fingers were absent-mindedly drawing shapes and words onto Lydia's thigh. She would shiver every now and then when his light touches would give her goosebumps, but she kept her concentration.

Stiles on the other hand was having a hard time focusing. In these quiet moments when they weren't ravishing each other, a hint of doubt would creep in. Maybe doubt wasn't the right word. It was like… there was something he was forgetting, something that he wanted to say or think, and it was right on the edge of his memory, he just couldn't quite place it.

Stiles sat the book down and leaned over to rest his chin on Lydia's shoulder.

"Can I help you?" she asked. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"What are you reading?"

"The newspaper," she replied coyly. He gave her thigh a slight pinch and Lydia let out a laugh. "It's this article about a guy who was in a coma for like 10 years, and he just woke up. Can you imagine that? Like one day you fall asleep, and when you wake up you've lost a decade of your life. You have to have new technology explained to you and learn about how crazy the world got while you were-" Lydia stopped talking as she glanced over at Stiles who seemed to be wearing a look of realization.

Realization because he finally remembered what had been eating at him. His mind had been occupied by so many emotions, his worries had temporarily vanished but they came rushing back in an instant. Lydia at the hospital, a werewolf and a mysterious man.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer right away and tried to remember what Lydia had said about the man.

"What did that guy you met at the hospital tell you?"

His nervous tone made her tense as well. "Alan? Why?" she asked, frowning.

"Don't you find it strangely convenient that you ran into someone who seemed to know exactly what happened to you?"

Lydia felt a shiver down her spine and a feeling of guilt overwhelmed her.

"So, you think I was wrong to trust him?" she asked in a low voice.

Stiles tilted his entire body to face her and cupped her jaw to make her look at him.

"No, no," he tried to convey as much softness with his stare and voice as possible. "I trust you and you should trust your feelings. I'd just like to know who he was, you know." Lydia seemed to relax a little so he let go of her face and leaned against the pillow, still looking at her. "According to what you said, I guess he was a druid. They are usually trustworthy but I'd like to make sure."

Lydia scoffed, making Stiles raise an eyebrow, "A _what_ now?"

He smiled, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. "Lydia, I'm so hurt right now." He paused to dramatically put a hand on his heart and shake his head. "Don't you listen to anything I tell you?"

"I'm usually distracted – " she trailed off, kissing him faintly and making him snort. "Why don't you jog my memory?"

"Well, druids usually guide a werewolf's pack, they know a bunch of stuff about the supernatural and if they are Alan Deaton, they are way too cryptic giving you the information." He laughed softly through his breath, losing himself in a memory before resuming. "Once, he left _me_ , a spastic and hyperactive 16 years old teenager alone with a handful of mountain ash that had to build a barrier to protect everyone inside it and to help me figure out how it worked, he only told me that I had to _believe_ strong enough that it was possible to make it happen."

"And did it work?"

"Surprisingly, yeah."

"Well, maybe you have magic powers…"

He heard her teasing tone and turned his head slowly to kiss her smirk away, smiling as well. Lydia had trouble containing her grin, trying to picture the scene, but Stiles eventually managed to coax her mouth open and she stopped her teasing.

He put his arm around her shoulder and Lydia nuzzled up in the crook of his shoulder when he felt her body twitch with a silent laugh.

"I don't think I've ever heard the name Alan so many times. Except in _Jumanji_ maybe." They both laughed through their noses. "Must be a good druid's name. I think it meant something like _rock_ or _noble_ in Celtic."

Stiles laughed affectionately, "How would you possibly know that?"

"I don't know," she said shrugging and looking at him, smirking. "But it's part of my charm, right?"

"Hell, yeah." He kissed her temple and laid his head against it. "I suggest we find a third druid to test that hypothesis. Unless he was an African American about fifty and bald…"

Stiles had said it casually as a joke but Lydia froze, suddenly realizing something and slowly lifted her head.

"He _was_ an African American about fifty and bald."

"What?" He turned his head so fast to look at her, Lydia was afraid he might have hurt himself.

After a long moment of silence that Stiles spent opening and closing his mouth and not knowing what to do with his hands, he eventually spoke with a hesitant voice.

"Do you think it might have been him?"

He saw her purse her lips and shrug, almost apologetically. "I have no idea, I'm sorry… He only told me his first name. Although, I _did_ have the feeling that he knew who I was. Or at least, that I reminded him of someone. And he did tell me he used to live in California."

"So, he lives here now? I mean… the man you met lives here?"

Lydia shrugged, "I don't know. He was American, I'm sure of that. Maybe he does live here or he was just visiting. Or maybe he's helping young werewolf packs around the world…"

Seeing him smile at that last hypothesis but still frozen and drinking her words, she left them hanging, not knowing if telling him things that weren't facts was actually a good idea. She still didn't know if this man being Deaton was good news or not.

If she would have asked Stiles that question, he wouldn't have been able to answer. At first, his blood had frozen in his veins at the thought that Lydia might have met someone from his past. Not anybody. Someone who knew his darkest and ugliest secrets, who had seen him at his murderous worst. It made him uncomfortable. As if two universes he knew would eventually collide had known about each other's existence a little too early.

What was he supposed to feel?

Deep down, something was fidgeting. Waiting to explode in an unrestrained joy because the one who had tried his hardest to help him after his father's death might be _here_ and he could have the chance to see him again after all those years.

But it wasn't that simple and it was enough to dampen his enthusiasm.

Lydia resumed talking, slowly and carefully, after watching him sigh and lean against the headboard. She didn't know the entire story but it was an easy guess to say that this man hadn't just been a cryptic druid.

"You know, if the same thing that happened to me happened to the young girl I saw him with, there's a strong possibility that they're still at the hospital… In case you'd like to check…"

Nibbling at her lower lip and nervously tapping her folded legs, she watched him closely, looking for any reaction. He inhaled loudly and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant and his stare was lost in the distance in front of him.

"No." He shook his head, turning to look at her. "The last time I saw him was in front of a judge… He was trying to get my custody to help me getting emancipated but with my father being… gone, there was nobody to cover up for me anymore, I was involved in too many cases… I don't know, I guess I was just an angry teenage boy, you know? We could have figured something out but I kind of lashed out on him in court. They sent me to a foster home and refused to give me any capacity to be emancipated before the legal age."

A sad smile stretched on his lips when he felt Lydia's hand rubbing his arm affectionately.

"He tried to visit me but I always pretended to be sick or asleep when he was there." He shook his head again, closing his eyes and burying his head in his hands, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

Lydia remained silent, trying to figure out the best way to reply. She eventually took his hands in hers, forcing him to look at her.

"Look, I'm not saying you have to make a decision now, but think about it… If it really is him, I _know_ he'll be happy to see you. But it's your decision and whatever you decide, I'll be there with you." He nodded and his stare focused on the sheet's folds between them. Lydia took his chin between her fingers, pulling him in her arms, rubbing his back with one hand and stroking his nape with the other. "After all, it wasn't _such_ a bad idea to see me again, right?"

She felt him silently laugh and kiss the skin on her neck.

xxxxxx

Stiles hoped that the prospect of their departure would make him forget about it but it did the opposite.

Days went by.

The nearer D-Day drew, the tighter his chest became. He was suffocating under the same sense of impending doom he had felt in London when he had known Lydia was somewhere near him.

He _needed_ to know.

Seeing him so nervous was making Lydia edgy. She knew it was his decision but she was dying to convince him to simply have a look at the hospital.

In a way, Lydia did give him the push he needed.

Four days after their discussion, he came back at the end of the day and found her biting her nails while reading a book. He realized he had never seen her bite her nails. When he understood that _he_ was making her do that with his constant anxiety, he took the decision to go to the hospital at the first opportunity.

It came along on the next day.

The farmer needed someone to fetch parts he had ordered from a supplier in Krakow during lunch break. Stiles volunteered, thinking he would be able to make a detour via the hospital. The man lent him his car, an old blue Jeep that reminded him with a tightness in his chest of the one that had belonged to his mother and that he had given to Scott the day before his departure.

He settled behind the wheel and watched the farmer walk away before letting his memories flood his mind.

The interior wasn't the same, nor was the scent. There wasn't any ripped open packet of chips behind the passenger seat or wolfsbane in the glove compartment. There wasn't any change of clothes in the trunk, even less old blood-stained t-shirts rolled up into a ball next to a first-aid kit on the back seat.

And obviously, there wasn't any duct tape. The farmer surely knew how to properly fix his car.

A nostalgic smile stretched on Stiles's lips when he grazed the wheel and the dashboard that seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the images dragging out of his memory in a succession of tears, laughter and colours.

He started the car and couldn't help but smirk when he didn't need to try again. When he lifted his head, he was almost expecting to see Scott burst in on him, opening the door and asking him to drive away fast.

But Scott wasn't there.

Lydia was.

He saw her running in the distance, two sandwiches in her hand, her purse bouncing against her hip and her skirt flying around her legs.

Stiles let this vision engulf him. Lydia, running toward _him_ , all eyes on her and her eyes only staring at him, smiling.

When she was close enough to the Jeep, he leaned to open the door from the inside. She had to lay the sandwiches and her purse on the seat to lean on it and almost jump inside.

Once finally seated, she leaned on the headrest and closed her eyes, exhaling loudly. Her cheeks were still red and a soft laugh escaped Stiles's lips which earned him an evil eye from Lydia.

"You didn't have to run you know, I was gonna pick you up."

"In that piece of junk? No, thank you…"

"How dare you?"

He pretended to look offended and stared at her with wide eyes but her smirk made him laugh. During the first minutes of the drive, he entertained the idea to tell her about his Jeep and his duct tape but he decided against it. He didn't know how he would react, he wasn't sure he would be able to talk about it as lightly as he should.

If Lydia noticed something, she was thoughtful enough not to mention it.

Instead, she turned the radio on, filling the car with Polish pop music and fifteen year-old hits.

After a while, she finally gave in to Stiles's constant pleas and fed him bits of sandwiches that she put directly in his mouth, trying and failing to look pissed each time he would lick her fingers or nibble at them.

Thirty-four minutes later, they were at their destination. They quickly picked up what the farmer needed, putting it in the trunk and stayed a few minutes on a bench in a park to eat their lunch. Stiles had needed an excuse to postpone the moment he would rush to the hospital, to stay silent, trying to loosen the bundle of nerves in his stomach.

Guilt. It had always been guilt. Gnawing him, eating him up from the inside and he was sick of it. He couldn't set his mind on something else than the last words he had said to Deaton. He had flown into a blind rage, repeating over and over again _This is all your fault_ , insulting him and almost spitting in his face. Deaton had closed his eyes and when he had opened them, they weren't filled with anger or contempt. He was staring at him warmly, drying up the flood of insults pouring out of Stiles's mouth. He had laid his fatherly hand on his forearm, staring at him straight in the eyes and telling him a genuine _I'm sorry_ with this heartfelt tone that had never left him.

Stiles had spent the rest of the day crying and had never seen him again.

Lydia's small hand on his shoulder broke him out of his traumatic memories. Her thumb reached out to wipe a few tears from his cheek.

"C'mon, let's go, you can't go on like this."

Her voice was barely a whisper against his temple but it was powerful enough to chase away his teenager's snappy tone. She leaned to kiss his cheek and remained with her head against his shoulder until she felt him lean into her side.

They slowly went back to the Jeep and didn't exchange a single word during the entire drive to the hospital. Lydia kept her hand on his thigh, massaging it from the tip of her thumb every time she felt him tense.

Once parked in front of the hospital, they stayed inside a little while to think about a plan. Lydia wasn't sure she would be able to remember where the room was or its number. Even if she did remember, they couldn't burst into a room without knowing who they would find in it. The Alan she had met could be another Alan and worst, the girl could have left.

After a few minutes, it was decided that Lydia would impersonate a specialist who would have been called by the young girl's family doctor and would pretend she hadn't heard from anyone in a while. She would have then decided to come and see for herself.

The front desk receptionist was a young woman who seemed a little stressed out. _Perfect_. It would make it easier given they didn't even know the girl's name.

Lydia walked in with Stiles beside her. She stuck out her jaw and put on her most haughty and stern mask. She stopped in front of the front desk woman and without asking her if she spoke English, she started to bombard her with questions. The woman was looking more anxious by the second.

Stiles was keeping his distance but when he realized that it was working and that the receptionist started to check on her computer, he came closer with his heart pounding in his ears.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Martin but she woke up almost a month ago. We kept her under observation for a little while but she went home a few days after."

"Who visited her when she was here?" Stiles had stepped forward next to Lydia and his voice startled the woman who lifted her head to look at him, even more panicked.

"I'm sorry, I… I can't give you this information."

Lydia saw the way she nervously twisted her hands and knew it wouldn't be difficult to make her give in. She replied in a scathing tone Stiles hoped he would never have to face.

"Just answer my assistant's questions." She sighed, looking exasperated and turned to face Stiles. "I told you, the reception in this structure is getting worse every year. I can't believe _I_ am treated like _that_. You know – " She shifted her stare toward the receptionist, "I won't fail to talk about it to the director when I see him next week… Miss Laska." She had said it with a devilish grin while glancing at her name tag.

The woman's face turned even paler and without wasting another second, she checked her files.

Lydia felt Stiles coming closer to her. She threw him a thin smile and took his hand in hers, trying to soothe him while the receptionist wasn't looking at them. When she raised her head from her computer, Lydia let go of his hand and her face shifted to an impatient look.

"She didn't have a lot of visits…" She had to clear her throat to stop her voice from faltering. "Only her parents who took her home, Eliot Tobolski and Alan Deaton."

She lifted her head without knowing that this last name she had said without pausing and in the same monotone had the power to trigger a storm. Stiles rubbed his hands on his face and stepped back, starting to walk aimlessly around the lobby. Lydia thanked the receptionist and apologized before meeting Stiles, grabbing his arm to lead them out.

He got inside the Jeep, sat behind the wheel and leaned his forehead against it. Lydia heaved herself up inside. She hesitated a few seconds but eventually laid her hand on his back, grazing it while saying his name in the softest voice possible.

Without lifting his head, he shifted his body to lay his head against her breasts, putting his arms around her waist. Lydia let him lean completely on her and wrapped him in her arms, burying her nose in his hair.

He silently cried a few minutes, trying to focus on Lydia's strokes and the regular beating of her heart. When his tears began to dry, he slowly shifted to seat up. Lydia tried to catch his attention by cupping his wrist in her hand.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"What's the point?" he asked, shrugging and drying the last tears on his cheeks with his sleeve. "There's nothing to say. It was Deaton and I missed him. I don't even know if I'll get the chance to see him again… We don't even know where he lives. Maybe it's for the best, he must already have enough problems."

"Stiles, stop it please… First, you would have missed him anyway, they must have left a few days after I saw them… And as for him having enough problems, I'm sure the day you'll come back, you'll realize – "

"No!" He interrupted her abruptly and immediately regretted it. He shook his head, closed his eyes and resumed in a soft voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk to you like that, none of this is your fault. It's just that… I know what you're gonna say. That when I'll go back, they'll forgive me. But I can't go back, I don't want to. I don't want them to _have_ to forgive me. I want them to forget me, to have a life. Scott, his mom, Deaton… They have better things to do than forgive me."

Lydia inhaled and closed her eyes.

"You're wrong." She was talking so slowly and softly, Stiles felt like she was building a frail bubble around them that could burst with the slightest movement. She opened her eyes and continued. "You're wrong and I'm gonna prove it to you. I don't know how yet but I will. I don't care if it takes me weeks or months or years but I'll prove you wrong." Stiles opened his mouth to reply something but she shut him up with a smile and a kiss. "And don't try to change my mind because I won't, okay?… Do you trust me?"

The look on her face was so earnest and loving it almost made Stiles cry again. He kissed her a little deeper before answering "Yes, I do. Of course, I do."

* * *

 _It had been months since the last time he had dared to go_ outside _. He felt weak for no reason, shuddered at the sight of any shadow. Images and names were coming back to him but he couldn't tell what they were. Memories? Dreams? How could he find out? For the first time in years, he was realizing just how alone he was. He had nobody to ask. Even if he had someone, how would he have asked. He wasn't sure if he could still talk._

 _One thing was sure. He was human, he knew it by now because he had seen a stray dog and could tell the difference. But he wasn't always human. Sometimes, he was something else. He worshipped those moments: he felt better in those moments, more powerful. Sadly, they were rare now and seemed to coincide with the nights when the Moon was at its brightest. He couldn't remember a time when he had been a slave to the Moon or to anything for that mattered and it was filling him with a towering rage._

 _The attack came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. He felt his heart pound so hard it was almost like it wanted to free itself from his chest. Something lacerated his face, making his lips bleed and something else grazed his chest and his back, skinning him. Invisible claws were tracing lines on his legs, from his calves to his thighs, cutting through the flesh and muscles. It almost happened all at once, making him feel everything to the deepest of his core and soul. The pain was so sharp and engulfed him entirely, making it impossible to scream or defend himself. He tried to run away, to forget about the ache. He was running without knowing where to go, looking for this maze's exit while trying to get rid of this thing he couldn't even see. He was running with the strength desperation would give you, reaching impasses, running down stairs, jumping over walls._

 _There was a light in the distance which he tried to follow but every time he came closer, it would move away. He eventually realized that instead of running toward the exit, he was going deeper in the maze of those narrow streets._

 _Out of breath, he had to stop and found himself face to face with a creature he had never seen. He would have been incapable to describe it. It seemed to come from the depths of the Earth, the depths of Hell or Heaven. He looked at it, starry-eyed but with an undeniable terror._

 _He fell on his knees before it, diverting his eyes from its deep stare and looked down, catching sight of rats and cockroaches running away._

 _In the distance, a wolf howled._

 _He lifted his head once again to look at it. There was a certain beauty in its brown eyes, a mesmerizing beauty in its dark hair floating behind it._

 _It came closer to him and he was paralysed. It touched him and suddenly, he wasn't in pain anymore. He wasn't feeling_ anything _. There was an emptiness inside of him, nothing made sense anymore. All he could feel was a force pushing him toward the edge of a precipice and leaving him with nothing positive to hold on._

 _He was empty. There was nothing else but the impenetrable ebony darkness standing in front of him._

 _The creature bent over him, burying its hands in his entrails, emptying him from everything he still owned and throwing it in the gutter. Rats came back._

 _It bent a bow back, aiming straight at his heart. He opened his eyes wide, more frightened than ever and still completely frozen. It lasted less than a second. The arrow hit his heart and everything came back to his memory. His name, his identity and flashes of voices and colours._

 _He saw the girl who had allowed him to live again. The girl with fire in her hair and stormy ocean in her eyes. She had helped him breathe again and seemed far, far away from him now, on the other side of a screen of smoke that seemed to thicken by the second. He tried to call her, to reach her, catch her attention but she seemed to react less and less to his pleas. Wild panic was settling inside of him, as if his life was depending on this last microsecond. She had to turn her head, see him… But the screen of smoke closed itself and he caught sight one last time of her bright hair before understanding that it was over._

 _His stare shifted to the creature still standing in front of him and who had drawn another arrow._ _He saw a faint smirk on it lips, showing dimples around its smile. A silver medallion with a howling wolf around its neck caught his attention and made him open his eyes even wider when he recognized it. When he recognized_ her _. The last sound that came out of his mouth was a barely human laugh and was interrupted by an arrow lodged in his throat._

 _The arrow flew so fast it drew a single silver line that lit up the darkness._


	13. Weltgefühl

**Tuesday, April 26th** **2022 – Poland, countryside around Krakow**

"You're sure you have enough?"

Lydia kept translating what the farmer's wife was saying (even though she knew Stiles's Polish had improved) and smiled warmly at their host. She had insisted on being there when they left. "Yes, Ciocia, thanks again. I think you gave us enough food for at least five days!" She answered while Stiles was looking into the two coolers she had just given them.

Mrs. Poraszka turned her attention on him and his big smile made her chuckle. "You're going to need a lot of food for a twelve hours drive! I don't want you to starve…"

She smiled, her motherly gaze lingering on both of them. Stiles still hadn't lifted his head and Lydia knew very well why. He was holding back a few tears. Mrs. Poraszka had been an incredible support for them and for Stiles especially since they had come back from the hospital two weeks ago. She always had had a soft spot for those two young Americans coming out of nowhere, who were a little lost in their lives but who were obviously deeply in love with each other. From the beginning, she had tried to make everything easier for them. She had a daughter about their age who was living in Ukraine and she couldn't help projecting her protective instinct on them. They knew they had been included in the family when she had told them they could stop using her first name (Lada) and call her _Ciocia_ , the equivalent to _auntie_.

"Well, Ciocia," Stiles lifted his head and held out his hand. "We can't thank you enough for everything you and your husband did for us. It's been six exhausting but extraordinary months."

Lada shook her head with a knowing look and opened her arms to wrap Stiles in a warm and loving embrace. "Come on, _synku_ " Stiles wanted to say something but he knew he would have ended up crying if he had let it all out so he tightened his embrace. There wasn't a more universal way to express his gratitude.

She then turned to hug Lydia as tightly and whispered in her ear "Take care of him, he needs you."

Lydia let out a soft laugh, "I will", she murmured with a catch in her voice before letting go.

Lada watched them load their luggage into their rental car and discreetly wiped her wet eyes. Her husband joined her and shook their hands, wishing them a safe journey.

The four of them looked at each other in silent for a few seconds, not knowing how to express the emotions rushing inside of them. Lydia and Stiles felt like they were leaving the closest thing to a _home_ , a place where they had felt safe enough to let their love bloom while the farmers hoped the world wouldn't crush this couple who seemed to be the definition of soulmates.

Stiles gave Lydia a bottle of water before opening the passenger door for her and waved at the farmers with a watery smile. "Thanks again for everything," he said while sitting behind the wheel. Lydia opened her window, "We won't forget to send you postcards!"

Lada nodded and turned to her husband who smiled warmly behind his grey and bushy moustache. He took his wife by the waist and waved at them as Stiles started the engine. They watched the car drive away, Stiles and Lydia's hands waving through the opened windows for a little while.

Still holding his wife, the farmer kissed her temple and uttered the words they both had in their minds "Those two… They are pretty good together."

"Yes," she replied in a low voice. "I hope someone is watching over them. Do you think we left that kind of impression when we were their age?"

Her husband chuckled. "I don't know but I hope we were better liars… _Food poisoning_?"

They both shook their heads, laughing softly. The car disappeared on the horizon and they went back inside their house.

* * *

 **Friday, January 6th** **2023, 2 AM – Keflavik airport, Island**

For the fifth time in two minutes, Stiles glanced at his watch. Time was going by very slowly. Too slowly. They had landed an hour ago and would have to wait another five until their next flight. An hour that had felt like an entire day… How would he survive that? It was torture. This never-ending wait was gradually bringing his hyperactive self to the surface and that was dangerous because Lydia was currently asleep and snoring on his shoulder, her lips slightly parted. He was trying to remain as still as possible to let her sleep but his right leg kept nervously jolting without his consent. Every time it happened, his stare shifted to Lydia to make sure he hadn't woken her up but she was sound asleep. His lips stretched in a lopsided smile when he spotted a little droplet of saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth to his plaid shirt. This simple vision was enough to ease his nerves.

He should have been used to it by now but seeing Lydia so peaceful and laid-back was still taking him aback. It was still a mesmerizing vision. She mumbled something that sounded like his name and it hit him again: that difference between the Lydia who was here with him and the one he had found in the cemetery. Thinking about it made him dizzy, it felt like an eternity ago… A little more than a year. It wasn't _that_ long but between the cemetery and this terminal, they had looked for Peter, they had worked in a farm and had travelled through Europe.

Stiles laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was excited but couldn't help feeling a little nervous about what was awaiting them.

Lydia stirred against his shoulder and slowly woke up. She sat up and yawned while rubbing her fingers against her eyes. Stiles opened his own eyes to watch her adorable sleepy gaze shift toward him.

"Good morning, beautiful."

She smiled at him before nuzzling her head against the comfort of his shoulder once again.

"How long did I sleep?"

"Exactly twenty three minutes and – " he glanced at his watch once again, "twenty four seconds, forteen if we take away the time it took you to wake up and ask the question."

Lydia chuckled, "someone has been nervously glancing at his watch, hasn't he?"

"Maybe…" he answered while kissing the top of her head.

A buzzing in his pocket made Lydia straighten up. Stiles took his phone in his hand and froze. He looked hesitantly at her.

"You should answer…"

He didn't answer, still looking at his phone with wide eyes. She resumed, "Stiles, you already talked to him on the phone five days ago…"

"It was the day after New Year's Eve… I was tired, hungover and maybe _a little_ emotional…." He heard Lydia scoff and added, "okay, maybe _a little_ is a euphemism…"

Stiles nibbled at his lips, hopelessly watching his phone buzz in his hands until it stopped and the screen would switch off. He exhaled and closed his eyes while Lydia affectionately rubbed his back. "I'll call him back later…" he said underneath his breath.

"Okay," she kissed his cheek lightly, her elbow resting on his shoulder. "Give me the notebook, I want to look at it."

She knew better than try to rush him into this, there was no way he would do something that made him this anxious in his current state. The change of topic seemed to ease Stiles's nerves. He went through his backpack and got their notebook out. They had started it in Poland, right after their visit to the hospital, looking for Deaton. It had been a way for Lydia to take Stiles's mind off of everything and help him focus on something else while planning their journey.

Now, there were pages and pages covered in his or her handwriting, commenting every step of their journey with photos and drawings. Lydia's drawings obviously, because Stiles's were a disaster. They had followed Claudia's tips, checking everything on the list she had made at the end of her notebook.

Lydia leaned against Stiles's side and leafed through it. She still couldn't believe in her luck, in this happiness that had decided it was alright to settle inside of her.

* * *

 **Friday, September 2nd** **2022 – Innsbrück, Austria**

They had spent August basking in the sun and had decided to head somewhere cooler. Claudia mentioned a small town in Austria, near the Alps, where she often spent her vacations when she was a kid. Her aunt had an apartment in Innsbrück not so far away and a small cabin higher in the pasture.

In her notebook, there was a picture of Claudia in front of this cabin. She must have been 10 years old but time and scotch tape she had used had rubbed out details. Claudia and her aunt (who had an arm wrapped around her shoulders) were smiling to the camera. If Stiles hadn't told her what it was, Lydia would have never guessed that what Claudia was holding in her small arms was a lamb. The sky had turned white, merging with the clouds and the snow on the mountains in the background. It gave to the picture a celestial dimension. The cabin was behind them, surrounded by small yellow flowers. The only colour that hadn't faded.

Stiles had told Lydia that when he was a kid, he had begged his parents to let him adopt a lamb after his mother had showed him this picture. It had lasted months and had only stopped when he had found a new passion for boas.

Lydia was glad she hadn't let Stiles and his eagerness plan their hike. If she had listened to him, they would have jumped from the bus that had driven them from Croatia to Austria directly to the village where they would have started climbing. But Lydia knew it would be a disaster and wanted to climb higher than the cabin until they would reach the nearest peak. It wasn't the highest of the chain but it was still more than two kilometres and even if neither of them were in bad shape, they weren't fit enough to do that after almost five hours in a crowded and cheap bus.

They visited countless sportswear stores to find the right equipment and spent three weeks training their hiking skills. The contrast between the air by the sea and here in the mountain was striking. The wind always left salt on their lips and sand on their damp skin by the sea, washing them from everything until they would feel each other's soul dancing under their bones. Here, the wind made their lungs expand until there wasn't any empty space, until each cell would be filled with this biting air.

The first time they went hiking, they didn't last more than 45 minutes, but when they came back to the room they were renting, their cheeks were flushed red and they were able to feel muscles they had actually forgotten. Stiles complained a lot this first night, giving Lydia the opportunity to tease him until they went to bed. But the truth was that their minds were blissfully empty for the first time since what had happened in Moldova barely two months ago. Their bodies were so sore it was enough to push any worry away.

Lydia was relishing in the vision of a Stiles who looked so grumpy for plain, boring reasons and not haunted by his tragic past. He must have noticed something himself because despite his incessant grumbling, he was awake before Lydia every morning.

As draining as it was, they kept hiking everyday a little longer, allowing themselves a break once in a while to sleep in and cuddle in the warmth of their bed.

After their three weeks of training, they were able to hike hours long without feeling breathless and actually enjoy it. They decided to have their big hike two days later and set off during the first hours of the day when the colours in the sky were still pale and the streets empty.

The cabin seemed to have been abandoned years ago, but the weather was too beautiful to make Stiles regret anything. Orange and purple flowers had grown together with the yellow ones. There was a patch of grass in front of the terrace that his mother's aunt had always tried to mow regularly to give the children space to play soccer while the adults would enjoy a cup of coffee. It was now a paradise for butterflies and grasshoppers. They tried to take a picture of themselves in front of the cabin but Stiles kept moving at the worst moment and Lydia almost lost her patience.

They stayed there a little while to rest, eat a cereal bar, some dried fruits and drink water before beginning to climb higher.

On their way up, Lydia would look back once in a while to see the city grow smaller and smaller. Breathing was getting harder and trees had been replaced with grass. She was watching Stiles who tried his best to stay by her side. He was taller than her and for one of his strides, she had to make two. But it didn't stop him from following her rhythm, helping her with a steady hand on her lower back from time to time.

Her lungs were burning from the lack of air but she had never breathed so well than when they reached the top. They sat on a rock, Stiles wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she let herself melt against his side. Patches of vegetation were scattered here and there and an absolute silence was surrounding them. The only sound in their ears was the wind and an occasional eagle.

It suddenly struck Lydia how wrong she could have been when she had imagined having reached a peak the day she had received the Field's Medal because she literally was at a mountain peak and she had never felt so alive and surrounded by life. There was no trace of the crushing loneliness and emptiness she used to feel.

Even if they couldn't see it at first, there was life. Underneath them, in the eroding rocks. There was life above them, in the clouds passing by, forming above lakes to travel as far as possible. Down below, in each house they could still make out. In front of them, in the pasture where shepherds took their sheep and cows.

And there was life in them, in each cell that carried the oxygen that made their heart beat.

 _Weltgefühl_.

She had learnt that word in her German class in high school and she was just now grasping its meaning. The feeling of the world. The feeling that everything existed for a reason, that everything was connected in the great scheme of the universe. Even her.

She could feel this connection through the oxygen she was inhaling and exhaling.

Through Stiles's fingers intertwined with hers.

She would have wanted to go back in time to find the version of herself wandering in the streets in Granada, looking for some control and tell her that it didn't matter. That all she had to do was jump in.

It _was_ that simple.

* * *

 **Friday, January 6th** **2023, 5.30 AM – Keflavik airport, Island**

Stiles came back toward Lydia, two plastic cups filled with coffee in his hands.

"So, bad news: I don't know why there are so many people in this airport at 5 fucking AM but the line was too long at those Starbucks vending machine so, I went to a regular one and that coffee is probably disgusting… I mean, the last drops made a weird _sploosh_ sound…" He bent down to give Lydia her coffee, trying to be as careful as he could while she reached out, stifling a yawn. "But the good news is that we'll have plenty of time to get better ones and even have breakfast because our plane has a two hour delay…"

"Two hours? Why?" she sighed with a pout Stiles found adorable.

Lydia was still tired. He could tell just by looking at her red eyes that she must have rubbed a few times to stay awake. Stiles tried to contain his smile at the mental picture of an exhausted Lydia in one of his too-big hoodies, her little hands half covered with the sleeves, yawning and waiting for him to come back.

She took the cup in both her hands. She winced a little, "God Stiles, it's boiling hot!"

"Sorry…" he smiled apologetically. "But it's not that hot, you're just cold."

She shrugged and blew on the coffee to warm herself up. Closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh of content.

"Well," she said looking at Stiles now sitting beside her, "I did need something warm… I'll get us actual coffee later, it will loosen my legs up." She stopped to smile at him. "I'll bring you a snack if the restaurants aren't open."

"Peanut butter cups?" Stiles asked, grinning and nodding several times with wide eyes, turning Lydia's yawn into a laugh.

"Yeah, if you want."

They had found a perfect spot to sit and drowse. Despite the security waking them up around 3AM to check their tickets and passports, they were able to sleep for almost two hours. But they had made the mistake to go to the bathroom a little after that at the same time and had lost their seats. It took them a good half-hour to find a comfortable spot in the airport after that. Since then, if they wanted something, one of them always stayed behind to keep their seats. Lydia seemed to have accepted the situation but it was driving Stiles crazy and he kept looking for excuses to stand up.

But it wasn't the only thing making him nervous and given the way Lydia would regularly glance sideways at him, he figured she knew that. He read for probably the tenth time the advertising display in front of them, hoping it would take his mind off everything. Heaving a long sigh, he drank his coffee in one gulp and burnt his throat with the thick and bitter liquid. He winced and coughed, feeling his eyes pricking with tears until Lydia's warm hand came resting above his.

"Stop worrying, it will be alright, I promise."

Stiles shrugged, coughing behind his hand. "I'm not sure…"

He turned his hand around to take Lydia's hand in his and intertwined their fingers. When his eyes landed on her, she was carefully having a sip from her coffee before wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue and blowing on the liquid again. Maybe it was his nervous brain talking but Stiles could swear it was the cutest thing he had ever seen and his heart swelled with love when he realized how very Lydia-like it was. She turned to look at him with a smile playing at the corner of her lips. "You know what? If you don't trust yourself, at least trust me. That coffee _is_ boiling hot…"

"Oh, I hadn't noticed, thanks…" He had replied with a smirk and a hint of sarcasm but it had a hollow ring, even to his ears. He knew Lydia was trying to distract him and he would have wanted to thank her with more than half-hearted banter. But he couldn't.

His gaze wandered among the few people around them who were slowly waking up or tossing and turning in their sleep. He wondered if any of them could guess what was happening, if any of them realized that among them, someone was about to do the only thing that had been terrifying him for years: coming back to the wolf's den and pray nothing bad would happen. Maybe he wasn't the only one.

Lydia's voice broke him out of his thoughts, instantly easing the beating of his heart. "Stiles? Come here…"

He let Lydia pull him against her, his arms circling her waist and letting her hands wrap his head to press it gently against her chest. She had set the cup on the floor beside her feet. Her hands against his cheek and neck were still hot from the contact with the thin plastic. He closed his eyes, focusing on her voice that she had lowered to the minimum to whisper "Breathe with me" against his ear, her nose buried in his hair.

The slow and even rhythm of her chest rising then falling against his head was lulling him. There was a warmth radiating from her body, from her entire being that engulfed him. Waves of serenity started to surge inside of him. They stayed like that a few minutes, Lydia tenderly rocking Stiles and stroking his hair until the waves had swept everything away, leaving the shore pristine and new. Soon, his lungs managed to expand and he took a breath of fresh air that eased his entire body.

Lydia must have felt it because she softly called his name, stroking his cheek with her thumb. His eyes opened and he straightened up, staring at her with a look of adoration.

"Thanks", the words came out as a barely audible whisper before he brushed his lips against hers. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"You'd burn yourself even more with your coffee", she faintly laughed, making Stiles smile and actually kiss her.

In a fluid movement, she took her plastic cup back and adjusted herself on her seat. "I'd give anything for an armchair with thick cushions…" She winced, the metal seat hurting her back.

"You've been sitting here for a while, go for a walk, I'll keep your stuff."

Her gaze focused on Stiles's eyes and she must have found some remnants of his anxiety because she shook her head. "No, I'll get us some snacks and actual coffees in about half an hour. Go and get yourself water, your tongue must be still burning."

"Get _us_ some snacks?"

His smirk made Lydia smile "Yes, _us_. Now go before you start another earthquake with your leg."

"Alright!"

He stood up, smiling and walked a few feet away before coming back toward Lydia, mumbling something that sounded like "forgot something". He bent over her and crushed his lips on hers, his hands deep buried in her curls. With a laughing gasp, she kissed him back.

"Did you text – " Lydia didn't have the time to finish her question and was cut off by his mouth kissing hers slower.

"Yeah I told him we would be late…"

Right at that moment, his phone buzzed and Stiles beamed, looking at the answer he just received.

"Is that him?"

"Yeah, he says he can't wait."

Stiles had the most adorable smile on his face. Lydia thought she had rarely seen him looking so young and somewhat innocent. "See?" She nudged his knee with her own, diverting his gaze from his phone to her. "I told you he'd be happy."

He bent down to kiss her one more time before going away, typing something on his phone.

* * *

 **Sunday, May 15th** **2022 – Amsterdam, The Netherlands**

After leaving the farm at the end of April, they had decided to spend a few weeks in the Dutch countryside before getting to the capital in May. Claudia had written about Amsterdam that from March to May was the best time of the year to be there because the temperature was starting to get nice and the tulips were in full blossom, which turned the city and its park into something magical.

And it really was magical.

On a sunny day, they decided to blend into the crowd and rent bikes to follow the canals and wander all day long through the streets. Lydia didn't struggle long to get used to the many rules of the road but Stiles – who already was a very mediocre pedestrian and didn't understand why people wouldn't cross an empty street only because the light was red… _And it wasn't a big street, three strides at most!_ – turned out to be a terrible cyclist. He got honked at by countless bikes, cars and motorbikes. A grandma even hit him on the head with her stick when he stayed too long on the wrong side of a cycle way shared with pedestrians.

But he managed to stay in a good mood because for the first time in years, he could actually feel his mother's presence around him. This city looked like her, felt like her. He could easily imagine her riding her bike and wandering aimlessly through the streets, stopping on a bridge to take a picture of a barge covered in flowers and peacefully passing on. It was an open city, open to the world and to everything humanity had to offer, mixing its best with its worst sides.

And in the middle of the canals, idyllic streets and areas where day and night would merge, was the gouda museum.

"Lydia! You wanted to go to a museum, right?" Stiles had stopped abruptly and Lydia almost crashed into him.

"Yeah, why?"

"Look! A museum!"

Since Stiles had found a leaflet about that museum, he had done everything to _accidentally_ come across it and now had the cheerful expression of a six year-old on Christmas Eve.

Lydia followed his stare and chuckled. "Stiles, it's a _cheese_ museum!"

"Yeah, but it's still a museum, right?"

She tried to bite back her laugh at his toothy grin. "You know we're in Amsterdam, right? Van Gogh, Rembrandt…"

"But _cheese_! You like cheese, right?"

"I guess…"

"And it's a museum!"

"Yeah, but – "

She had to stop talking because Stiles had leaned his bike against the canal fence and was coming closer to her with a smirk on his lips, using his husky and teasing voice.

"Lydia, come on… Picture it. Hundreds of goudas… Not only yellow ones but also blue, red and green arranged in plates and cut into cubes with individuals toothpicks… Don't you wanna know what green gouda tastes like?"

"I'm guessing basil or pesto – " She had said it as casually as possible to tease him a little but wasn't prepared to _freeze_ him. He gaped at her and eventually blinked to collect his wits.

"Lydiaaaaaaaa", he whined. "I'm trying to be sexy!"

She nibbled at her lips, trying not to laugh. "You're trying to be sexy…"

"Yes!"

"With cheese?"

"Yes!"

"Well then, please continue!" She leaned back on the fence, crossed her arms and smiled, waiting expectantly.

"No, the moment's gone…" he started to walk away dejectedly and Lydia knew she was going to fall right into his trap but couldn't find it in herself to care.

She sighed and rolled her eyes for good measure before calling after him. "Okay you win, let's go."

He turned around in an instant, looking all excited. "You won't regret it! We're gonna have such a _gouda_ time…"

Lydia tried hard to remain as serious as possible but after a few seconds spent staring at his goofy smile, she couldn't help bursting into laughter. "Okay," she said after regaining her composure. "I don't know how long exactly you've been preparing that one but that was the only and last cheese joke I'll allow you…"

"Come on, you can't _brie_ serious!"

Lydia was taking her bike back and didn't turn around. "I'm very serious, cheese puns aren't funny," she said smiling.

"You're just laughtose intolerant…" She heard him get on his bike and let her laugh escape her lips.

"And you're just cheesy! Now," she said turning her head to look at him. "Can you please lead the way?"

Stiles was staring at her like she had just declared her love to him. "Lydia, that was brie-lliant…"

She didn't answer this time and tried to look as aggravated as she could.

"Okay I'll lead the way!" He ended up saying with a knowing smirk. "Don't underestimate cheese seduction, ever again…"

Without giving her time to reply something, he winked at her and sped off toward the building, dodging at the last second a young couple who insulted him. At least, that was what he understood from their shouting and angry faces. Lydia shook her head with a fond smile and followed him, apologizing for him to them.

They spent a little more than an hour in the museum, Lydia actually having fun with the free tasting games. But their incessant cheese jokes battle was the real highlight of the tour.

On the next day, (and because reciprocating was the key to a healthy relationship), Stiles agreed to go to the Van Gogh Museum and even found himself enjoying it. He didn't realize he'd recognize so much of Van Gogh's work.

Although, there was one particular piece that caught his attention. It showed crows flying above a wheat field. He knew this painting because his mother had a replica above her desk. When he was a kid, it used to scare him. The colours were dark, the night was falling and he could feel the icy wind rustling the wheat or hear the crows croaking. Sometimes, when he wanted to prove to himself that he was a big boy, he stood on purpose in front of the painting right before bedtime but he always ended up crying and calling his mother in the middle of the night. When she died and he understood that crows were a symbol for death, it became too hard to look at it so he asked his father to take it away.

But today, years after, he noticed something he had never seen. Maybe because his mother's replica was small or because he had always focused on the details like he always did. It wasn't just the night, the rustled wheat and crows. Right in the middle of the field, taking half of the painting, were three paths. Paths starting in the foreground and losing themselves in the distance. Those paths opened the space, allowing you to choose an alternative to death and night. If you would look at it from another angle, you could see three paths meeting in one central point, right in the foreground centre. Stiles remembered something Lydia had told him one night about what the Asians called the fifth cardinal point. A symbol for the centre, representing balance and stability. The breath after a long anxiety episode.

It had always been there, staring at him.

Stiles was still overwhelmed when they got out of the museum and as soon as they were back in the studio they were renting, he immersed himself in his mother's writings under Lydia's proud and knowing gaze.

During this first month, Stiles felt like he was slowly getting back his young self, the little boy attached to his family. He discovered that his roots weren't dug up like he had always thought they were but were still buried, deep and safe under the ground.

* * *

 **Friday, January 6th** **2023, 8.10 AM – Keflavik airport, Island**

Lydia was sipping the hazelnut cappuccino she had bought after their breakfast while Stiles had fallen asleep on her shoulder. She gazed at his peaceful expression for a moment. The bags she had always seen under his eyes seemed to have finally left his face. He had changed, looked younger. Maybe someone had decided to give them back all those years they had lost, after all.

Her stare drifted to the people around them. In front of them, was a woman with her two kids and her husband. They looked tired of waiting but the woman took both kids on her lap and gave a peck on her husband's cheek with such tenderness it made Lydia smile. The man had bought colouring books for the kids who were starting to get bored.

Getting married or having children had never been a dream for Lydia, she had always imagined her life without any of it. Truth was, she herself never had a family. She didn't have any memory of tenderness between her parents and her father had left so suddenly, she only could associate the word _family_ with problems and disappointments. But even _she_ had to admit that this family seemed happy.

She felt warmth spreading through her chest and sighed while leaning her cheek against Stiles's soft hair. By now, she knew how to let this warmth swallow her to heal her wounds and somehow reach Stiles. Her constant efforts since July had paid off, she now knew how to canalize her "strengths" or the "waves" that were overwhelming her from time to time. She still didn't know _what_ she was but she knew what she could do. She could help Stiles. The memory of that one night in Prague came to her mind, it was the first time this connection between them had been so tangible and from that moment she had tried to figure out a way to use it and well… here they were!

She glanced at Stiles's watch. Still fifty minutes and they'll take off…

Half awake, he took her hand in his without opening his eyes and began to draw circles on the back of it. She kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes, feeling light-hearted and loved.

* * *

 **Tuesday, June 7th** **2022 – Prague, Czech Republic**

"Ballet?" Stiles was looking at her all starry-eyed and mouth agape, making Lydia blush. "Is there something you're not good at?"

She shrugged and smirked. "Probably not…"

Stiles snorted and shook his head before gazing at her again, realizing something. "That's why you were doing so good when we had ice skating classes in the 5th grade!"

"You remember that?" she asked chuckling.

Stiles felt warmth spread on his cheeks and diverted his eyes to focus on the landscape unfolding through their empty compartment's window. "Barely…" He tried to hold back his smile but finally cave in when Lydia pressed her shoulder against his with a knowing _mmh_. He turned his head to smile at her and kiss her forehead. "Of course, I remember. You were spinning around with your hair and your dress flying all around you… I watched you spin faster and faster and I was sure you were going to fly away. I can't remember where that was but they had taken us to that outdoor ice rink, you know? The one near the forest?" Lydia nodded and he resumed. "It must have been in early November because there were a few dead leaves the colour of your hair on the ice and all I was thinking about was that it would be beautiful if your speed could make the leaves fly around you and make a crown above your head like a wood nymph…" He seemed to lose himself in the memory until Lydia let out a laugh that made him come back to reality. "Don't laugh at me, I was really into nymphs around that age… And would you rather have me wish for your dress to fly higher until I could see your panties like Logan did?"

She shook her head, smiling and kissed him softly "No… I like my sappy poet better." She was about to lean back on her seat but Stiles cupped her cheek to bring her closer and kiss her again. Lydia sighed against his lips and resumed, "I have an idea. We're gonna go to an ice rink during the week and if I manage to make you look at me with the face you just had, we're going to the national theatre to see a ballet."

She grinned widely, she was dying to see a ballet in Prague but she couldn't find the argument that would convince him. She knew she had found it when he leaned his head back and sighed loudly.

"Don't take advantage of me like that! That's cheating, you know I'll lose…"

"It's a no, then?" She pouted her lips, looking disappointed and slid closer to Stiles who tried to bite back his smile. "Maybe I won't wear any panties and I won't even mind if that's the only thing you can think about…" She ran her fingers along his thigh and brushed her nose against his earlobe.

Letting out a soft moan, Stiles turned his head to kiss her deeply, letting her tongue do whatever it wanted with his.

"You're the devil, Lydia Martin… I agree but I'm warning you," he left his sentence hanging to kiss the corner of her lips, "I'm hard to please."

Before she could make a sarcastic comment, the compartment's door opened and an old woman walked in, sitting in front of them. Stiles chewed the inside of his cheek to regain his composure and Lydia discreetly hid her smile behind her hand.

They spent the short hour left to Prague talking quietly, Lydia telling him about her four years of ballet in elementary school while Stiles played absently with her fingers, a fond smile on his lips.

They finally arrived and their first impression was that there were more tourists than what they had expected. Nevertheless, it was the most beautiful city Lydia had ever seen. Looking at Stiles's dumbfounded face when they got lost on their way to the hotel, she thought he was probably thinking the same. Never had she felt the weight of the centuries as much as on those paved streets that seemed to come right out of the 16th century. Everything around them strengthened that feeling: the tarnished bronze statues, the ochre or red buildings, the slate roofs and the smell of hot cinnamon invading their senses whenever they would pass a bakery.

But their first night reminded Lydia that Prague wasn't frozen in the 16th century and that its narrow and tortuous streets were perfect for the number of drunken tourists and students.

The next morning, when Stiles would wake up Lydia by pushing her in his sleep, she would realize that not only did she have an atrocious headache, but she was also tightly hugging a hideous stuffed lion and three bottles filled with something pink were resting on their unpacked suitcases (probably a girly alcohol Stiles had been drinking all night long). Lydia would sigh, push Stiles's arm to avoid the humiliation of actually falling from the bed and would swear to never let him win again so easily.

Because it _was_ his fault. Of course, it was.

xxxxxx

When they had finally found their hotel, it was already 8 PM and Lydia was exhausted. She only craved one thing: order some take out and eat in their hotel room, preferably leaning against Stiles's torso with his knees as arm-rests.

But maybe Lydia had already pushed her luck too far with the ice rink because she let Stiles convince her to eat in a medieval restaurant that had jugglers, fire-eaters, fake dancing Gypsies and dressed up waiters.

It was clearly a tourist trap but the food was decent and Stiles had enough energy to make the conversation for two so, Lydia couldn't complain, really. His jokes made her genuinely laugh and the face he made every time he lost track of his thoughts was adorable. She couldn't help smiling and wanting to kiss him.

At one point during the night, a waiter brought out a cake with candles for a guest that was celebrating his birthday. Stiles stared at Lydia with an almost panicked look "I completely forgot your birthday!"

"It's in March, don't worry," she said laughing.

"I know it's in March but I forgot to buy something for you! Why didn't you remind me? Oh God… I have to buy you something! But then it won't be a birthday present…"

He kept rambling on under Lydia's amused stare and eventually decided that he couldn't buy something in a souvenir shop, he wanted something meaningful. That was why it baffled Lydia when he entered a darts tournament in the bar next to the restaurant to win a "surprise gift".

"It's not the gift that matters, it's the story behind it," he tried to explain when he saw her raising her eyebrow. "Whatever I offer you, it will be something I won in a tournament… Like a… Like a knight!"

Lydia pursed her lips and nodded, "A _knight_ , really? I didn't know _dart_ knights were a thing…"

Stiles opened his eyes widely at that, "Oh my god, yes! Yes! I love it, I'm your dart knight – " As those words escaped his mouth, he opened his eyes wide. "Like Dark Knight! I could be your Batman!" He paused to smile seductively at her and brushed his thumb against her blushing cheek. "And I'm gonna choose to ignore your sarcasm because it's gonna be fun and you'll love it, come on!"

She chuckled and followed him inside.

After paying his entry fee, Stiles was given a number and was taken to the back of the room where six boards had been set up. The rules were simple: they were twelve players paired up and playing against each other. One was eliminated each game.

Lydia sat on a stool close enough to Stiles to be able to wish him luck when it was his turn. She felt like a groupie, giggling each time he would send her a wink.

The players quickly all agreed that the losers had to pay a drink of their choice to all the winners. Stiles survived the first round before being eliminated and was sure he would have passed out if his strawberry-blonde goddess hadn't helped him with the six drinks he had been offered.

Stiles and Lydia started to talk with a group of Americans waiting for their friends who still were in the tournament. Lydia knew Stiles had never really been a sociable person in high school and suspected that it wasn't the life he'd had after high school that could have helped him perfect his social skills. She, herself, had never been at the top of the social ladder after high school but she knew how this kind of situation worked and was gladly helping Stiles by playing dumb (not all the time obviously, it wasn't high school anymore but she realized she didn't mind at all making him shine using her old tricks). As she would tell Stiles later, the secret was always to show off something the others could lust after. She would fall in love with him a little more after that because he would look at her horrified and tell her that nothing and nobody was worth making a _thing_ out of her.

Lydia kept taking sips out of Stiles's beer and enjoyed more and more how carefree it made her feel. His constant stare and warm hand on the small of her back were helping, truth be told. Alcohol was delightfully going to her head and before she could understand what was happening, they were all gulping down a fourth rhubarb schnapps shot. Stiles was happy, she could read it in his eyes that seemed to reflect an internal light. It was making everything else worth it: her tiredness, the mask she had to wear (because she still didn't know any other way to interact with people that weren't Stiles) and the men who were shamelessly checking her out from across the room.

At the end of the tournament, Stiles ended up with a consolation prize: a stuffed lion wearing a suit with a nightmarish smile. Stiles gave it to Lydia with a silly smile and sang "happy birthday", followed by all the others drunkenly singing in the background. He kissed her and promised to do better the next time.

She didn't have time to reply and tell him how happy she already was because their fellow-countrymen were asking them if they wanted to go on a pub crawl. Lydia discreetly rolled her eyes at the proposition because she couldn't believe how cliché they were being but Stiles was looking at her with so much enthusiasm it was endearing and made her realize it would probably be a first time for him so she eventually agreed. She secured the lion in her purse and watched powerless as one of the guys took _her_ Stiles away from her with a pat on his back to talk sports (or something as boring) with him, leaving her alone her with the girls. Catching her eyes behind his shoulders, he smiled apologetically at her and mouthed _thank you_. She smiled, shaking her head to make him understand it was okay.

Minutes after, her phone buzzed with a text from him.

 _We're leaving whenever you want, just let me know, okay?_

She replied a short _Okay but don't worry about me!_ before going back to her conversation.

Soon, she had to face the fact that she may have been wrong about them because she was enjoying their company. One of the girls, Zoe, was especially interesting. She had gone to MIT and after talking about Lydia's research, they talked about their travel through Europe and Lydia felt so comfortable around her she forgot all about the reasons she didn't want to join them in the first place.

They spent almost the entire night together, talking and laughing loudly in bars until Stiles caught sight of the daggers Lydia was throwing with her eyes at one of the girls. _Violet, was it?_ He took Lydia's little hand in his under the table, asking her discreetly if she wanted to go. She nodded and kissed him slowly, making a show out of her tongue coaxing his mouth open and her hand running along his thigh under Violet's ( _Victoria's?_ ) incredulous stare. When she leaned back, Stiles winked at her. "Interesting tactic…" he whispered in her ear, making her blush.

She stood up, saying her goodbyes to everyone, smiling warmly at Zoe and looking at Victoria ( _no, Vivian, definitely Vivian…_ ) disdainfully. That skank had spent the last hour ogling Stiles like he was the last boiled egg at a Sunday family brunch and Lydia couldn't take it anymore. He was _her_ egg and only hers.

She laughed at her drunken thought and when Stiles asked her what was so funny on their way out, she told him while leaning on him and smiling widely, "You're _my_ egg."

"Yes, I am", he replied snorting before kissing her. "What does that make you, then?"

It took a few seconds for Lydia to come up with something. "It makes me…" She nibbled at her lips, chuckling and leaning on Stiles for balance "your egg…cup?"

Stiles laughed and kissed her temple "Oh my god, babe, you're so drunk!"

"I thought I vetoed _babe_ … And I'm not drunk, I'm just tipsy…" She started to walk away from him but had to stop after two steps because she couldn't contain her giggles and it was making it difficult to walk straight.

Feeling a hand around her wrist, she turned around to catch sight of Stiles grabbing his phone in his pocket with a mischievous smile. "Wait a second..."

"What are you – " It suddenly occurred to her that he was trying to take a picture of her, which only made her laugh even more. "No, Stiles!" She tried to hide her face behind her hands but let out a squeal when she felt Stiles's big hand grab both her hands and take the picture he would later refer as _Drunken and jealous nymph bathed in the moonlight in Prague, part one._

They kept walking more or less straight because Lydia kept trying to hide her face from Stiles who wasn't done with his insistence on documenting the future generations about what a drunken nymph looked like.

"What's that sound?" Stiles suddenly asked. He stopped abruptly, making Lydia almost bump into him. She hung to his forearm to regain some balance and strained her ear.

"A guitarist I guess, why?"

A spark lit up his eyes. "Because I want to dance with you, come on!"

"Stiles, no, not this way… I wanna go to bed!" Her words were swallowed by her laughter. She was trying to pull Stiles toward their hotel and he kept trying to follow the sound of the musician.

"No, Lydia, listen! He has to be around that corner. _And darling, darliiiiiiiiing, stand -_ " He was clearly out of tune but Lydia couldn't resist his husky voice and turned around to face him, brushing her nose against his. He kept quiet a few seconds before resuming in a lower voice. " _Stand by me…_ Besides, it would be an insult to the nymphs' goddess to not make you dance tonight."

"And why is that?"

He stepped even closer and gave her a quick peck on the lips. "Because you look _so_ good. And I insist on the _so_."

She bit her lips, trying to temper the warmth spreading fast through her body but when he firmly grabbed her ass to press her against him, she couldn't help a moan to escape her mouth a little too loudly. She kissed him eagerly. He tasted sweet, like the rhubarb schnapps he had spent the entire night drinking (swearing he would never drink anything else) and was making those cute noises she loved so much while teasingly massaging her.

They eventually leaned back and smiled at each other, laughing lightly in the atmosphere. They started stumbling again toward the voice, Stiles singing kept getting louder, more and more out of tune and making Lydia giggle until it became hard to breathe.

When they reached the guitarist, a dozen people were already there, dancing, drinking and laughing. Stiles held out his hand, looking at Lydia almost shyly but smirking like the tease he was "So, now, get your cute little ass over here and dance with me."

She lifted an eyebrow and took his hand "I'm not the only one with interesting tactics I see…"

He scoffed and she took his hand with a sly smile. She let the music, the distant sound of other's happiness and the beating of Stiles's heart against her ear carry her away. Closing their eyes, they swayed in silence for a while.

Maybe it was this sudden stillness and tenderness mixed with the effects of the alcohol but time seemed to stop and she felt a force hurtling her backwards. Slowly, then faster and faster everything rewound before her eyes. She felt dizzy, caught in a swirl, but something was firmly holding her and helping her to stand on her feet.

She saw his face everywhere, in all her memories flashing across her closed eyelids. He was there, behind her in biology, standing across the hallway and trying to fit too many things in his locker, three tables away from her in the cafeteria, sitting in a beat-up car, daydreaming in class, smiling to his friends, laughing, getting detentions and seeming far too worried for his young age.

It all faded away in a big explosion that prevented her from focusing on any light, sound or sensation. The only thing holding her straight and keeping her conscious was the firm warmth on the small of her back.

She eventually came back to reality, feeling like she had just experienced a different version of her nightmares only… more pleasant. The song had changed, some John Lennon hippy-phase song that made her oddly feel connected to the elements around her.

Opening her eyes and lifting her head, she saw Stiles staring at her with his eyes wide opened. "What just happened?" he asked breathless.

"You felt it too?" Their voices were only whispers and it suddenly felt like the most intimate situation they had ever been in.

"Yeah, it was… warm and… cosy?"

"Yeah, warm and cosy..."

"What was it?"

Lydia wet her lips from the tip of her tongue, his warm breath tingling her in the best way possible. She eventually shrugged and leaned against his shoulder. "I don't know."

They started dancing again. He took her in his arms, spinning her around a few times and humming the lyrics.

"Stiles?" she said chuckling.

He stopped abruptly and lost himself in her gaze, finding balance again by leaning his forehead against hers. She resumed with a laugh in her voice. "It makes sense that you felt it too you know… I always thought we have this kind of connection… Unspoken, of course."

Lydia bit her lips and Stiles snorted, recognizing his own words from a decade ago. "I knew you heard that! You're just evil…"

"I saved you from a crushing humiliation and that's how you thank me?"

"Yeah, I guess you did…"

He would have wanted to tease her a little more but alcohol was seriously befogging his mind and softening his muscles. They eventually stopped swaying to kiss leisurely. Lydia tightened her grasp on Stiles's hips and tried to slide her thumbs under his shirt. She felt him laugh into her mouth and they soon had to lean back to breathe.

Tiredness started to weigh heavier on their eyelids so they decided to go back to their hotel, leaning on each other. They stopped on their way to buy some rhubarb schnapps bottles at a small corner store run by an old man with a weird moustache and who was half asleep on his cash register.

The walk to their hotel was long enough for the effects of the alcohol to wear off a little. The second they walked into their room, they crashed on the bed without even turning the light on and leaned against the headboard to talk a little more with a drawl and tired voices, the moonlight underlining their figures. Lydia closed her eyes and nuzzled against Stiles's shoulder, breathing him in deeply and closing the distance between her nose and his neck. She felt him move against her and opened her eyes to see him rifle through her purse.

"What are you doing?" She wanted to straighten up and grab his sleeve but barely had the strength to wave her arm toward him. He took the stuffed lion out and pecked Lydia's cheeks with it, making a kissing noise before nuzzling it in her neck to hug her. She giggled and took the lion from him to look at it.

"That's the best gift someone won for you, right?" He asked, leaning against her shoulder.

"Sure, better than a trip to _Rome_ …"

Stiles straightened up to look at her with wide eyes. Snorting, she kissed the corner of his mouth.

"I'm kidding… The only thing someone won for me was a stuffed kitten." Her gaze returned to the hideous lion. "Why did they make it wear a suit?"

After a few seconds of silence, Lydia turned her head to make sure Stiles hadn't fallen asleep on her shoulder but he was wide awake, trying to bite back a laugh, his face redder than ever.

She rolled her eyes, her lips starting to stretch in a smile without her noticing. "Go ahead, say it…"

"To make him look more… _stuffy_?" His voice faltered under the laugh he still tried to hold back which made him look silly and shouldn't be that attractive… "Do you know what you should call it?" Stiles bit his lips and Lydia opened her eyes wide. She knew exactly where he was heading and she couldn't give him the satisfaction to laugh because she had already laughed too many times at his jokes for a night. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to control the nervous giggle that threatened to burst out of her.

"Stiles, I'm warning you. If you say what I think you're going to say, I'm taking a separate room for the rest of the week."

For a moment, Lydia managed to keep a straight face which made Stiles's smile drop. It wrung Lydia's heart and she couldn't stop her next words to come out of her mouth, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Okay, make your joke…"

It wasn't just a smile that appeared on Stiles's face, it was a toothy grin that went from his left ear to his right one. "McStuffy Junior."

"It's a lame joke, you know that, right?" But it sounded like a lie because her smile was as bright as Stiles's who was wiping away tears from laughter with his sleeve.

"Come on, you're laughing, I'm hilarious… And handsome. You can't resist me." He was grinning like a loon and leaned closer to her ear, lowering his voice. "I'm your _egg_ , remember?"

His words shouldn't have any effect on Lydia and yet, she felt the need to slide her knees under his legs to come closer to him.

"You know, maybe I'll take another room."

"Come on," he lowered his voice a little more and played absently with the hem of her skirt. "You wouldn't last ten minutes…"

"Wanna bet?" She smirked and started to get up, using her remaining willpower that hadn't melted in a puddle somewhere between them. But the effort was worth it because the panic she read in his stare was priceless.

"No, wait, please! I – I can't sleep without you, you know that…" Lydia was glad they were both still a little drunk because otherwise, he would have certainly let her go to win the bet and it could have lasted days.

She turned on her heels with a satisfied grin and kneeled on the bed "Tell me if I'm wrong but it looks like _you're_ the one who wouldn't last ten minutes…"

She laid next to him and took the lion in her hands again without paying attention to the love-struck look he was throwing her. "You know what? I'm gonna call it McSappy…"

It was Stiles's turn to roll his eyes and snort, "Oh, really? McSappy? Because I'm sappy? You're just as funny as I am, Martin…"

She shrugged and nibbled at her bottom lip. "That way, I'll think about you when I see it."

"And _I'm_ the sappy one?" His tone was sarcastic but his stare was nothing but love and awe.

Lydia melted all over again.

"Shut up…" She smiled and closed the few inches that separated their lips before nuzzling her nose against his neck "What can I say, you're rubbing off on me."

xxxxxx

When everything would come back to her on the next morning, she would tighten her grip on the stuffed lion and sneak under Stiles's arm to cuddle up against his warm torso before falling back asleep.

Two days after, when Lydia would take him to the ice rink, he would look at her spin, jump and land perfectly with that smile that would render him speechless and unable to do nothing else but gawk at her.

But what could he say? Lydia was amazing and losing this bet was part of the things that were just fated to happen.


	14. Nemesis

**Friday, January 6** **th** **2023, 8.40 AM – Keflavik airport, Island**

Stiles felt something giving his thigh a hard squeeze and he jolted awake, straightening his head abruptly. It took a few seconds for his brain to grasp that it was Lydia's hand on his thigh and her voice repeating his name. A glance at her wide-eyed stare was enough to fully wake him up. "Wh… What's happening? Did I sleep the entire day?"

Lydia opened her mouth without turning her head but not a single word came out. Stiles checked his watch, they still had twenty minutes before boarding the plane. He followed her pointed finger and nothing caught his eyes except maybe a couple fighting in the middle of the bustling airport.

His attention was brought back to Lydia when she let out a curse. Her eyes seemed to scan the crowd and she clapped her tongue against her palate. She slowly rose up, craning her neck and gesturing Stiles to follow her. "Come…"

Still feeling drowsy, Stiles was watching her without understanding. He called her but she didn't answer and began to walk away. This _déjà vu_ made his heart beat stronger against his ribcage and he couldn't help picturing the worst. He hurried after her, remembering to grab his backpack and Lydia's small suitcase at the last second. Calling her name louder, a wave of relief swamped him as she turned and gestured him to come closer.

When he caught up with her, Lydia leaned against his arm and pointed toward one of the boarding gates. "Do you think that's…"

Stiles frowned, trying to find what was agitating her. Sounding impatient, Lydia added: "The man in red at the end of the line!"

Right on cue, the man turned around. Lydia gasped and beside her, Stiles hazily felt like all his muscles had suddenly weakened. He dropped both his jaw and the luggage he held at arm's length at the same time. Despite the commotion around them, the sudden noise reverberated through the entire terminal and drew everyone's attention on them. Stiles felt his heart hammer in his chest when he realized that the man was looking for the cause of the noise. He wished he could hide somewhere but the loud and regular sound of his own heart was hypnotizing him. When their stares met, Stiles felt his breath catch.

He could tell his legs were making him move forward but they seemed to belong to someone else. As they made him run into a businessman who was yelling on the phone, Stiles got a grip on himself. He was about to go back to Lydia to help her with her suitcase that had fallen open when he heard the man's voice calling his name.

The man was looking at him incredulously but his stare was tinged with an infinite affection that pierced right through Stiles's heart. He closed his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets to discreetly count his fingers against his thighs. It was a dream, it _had_ to be a dream.

And yet, when he heard his name repeated in that same deep voice, he knew it could only belong to Alan Deaton.

He opened his eyes and he couldn't stop a few tears blurring his vision. Drying his eyes with his sleeve, he felt Deaton's arms wrapping him in a warm embrace. Before he could put words on what was happening, his scent brought him back a decade ago. Unable to control his sobs any longer, he broke down crying in his comforting arms. Stiles clung on to his jacket, buried his nose in it and closed his eyes even harder, trying to soothe the teenager he had been with that almost unreal embrace. It brought back all the frustrations he had felt during the last twelve years, the anger, the sadness and the remorse. They all seemed to pour through him with the force of a bubbling torrent, turning his sobs into the tears a newborn would shed as twilight would close in. Then, bit by bit, the flow calmed down. The torrent became a river and narrowed down to a stream, leaving only fossils on the shore behind to bare witness to his old demons. Stiles felt his heartbeat slow down and only when he collected his wits, did he notice that Deaton was slowly loosening his grip on him.

He wiped his nose and eyes, causing a smile to stretch on Deaton's lips. Stiles saw there was only a dozen passengers left in the queue and suddenly feared watching him leave without having said anything. But his mind was dreadfully empty and he found nothing to say, noticing that the attendant was gesturing the last passengers to move forward. Silence didn't seem to bother Deaton who was looking at Stiles with something in his stare that the younger man couldn't decipher. Whatever it was, it eventually gave Stiles enough serenity to help him articulate a sentence that he found ridiculous the moment it left his mouth, "I came to see you at the hospital, but I was too late..."

Deaton's lips quivered and his eyes moved to Lydia who was discreetly approaching next to Stiles before focusing back on him with an amused smile. "I should have known you wouldn't be too far away from her," he said in the exact same voice Stiles remembered.

He felt Lydia's small hand tightening around his bicep, her thumb drawing comforting circles in his muscle while she took his fingers in her free hand and nestled them in the warmth of her palm. If it wasn't for the pressure Lydia was applying against his limbs to ground him, he would have sworn he had left his body. He felt numb, as if all the emotions that had just been through him had drained him, leaving behind them an empty shell.

Since that day at the hospital, Stiles had pictured hundreds of reunions with Deaton. He had pictured every possibility, none involving him not being able to make the slightest move.

And yet, that silent conversation felt more meaningful than any conversation they could have had.

But the spell they were under broke the second the flight attendant put her hand on Deaton's shoulder to ask him if he was standing in line to board.

"Yes, I'll be right there, thanks," he answered before turning back to look at Stiles. That was it. Stiles felt a wave of anxiety rise inside of him, almost stopping him from breathing. Lydia must have felt it because she clung closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her thigh against his hand still resting securely in hers.

"I have to go, but I'll see you soon." With that, Deaton took Stiles in his arms, forcing Lydia to let go of his arm and hand. Stiles cursed himself for still being unable to get the smallest sound out of his mouth. He almost hadn't noticed that Deaton was now talking to Lydia whose fingers had found their ways back in his hand.

Among the snippets of their quick conversation that pierced through his befogged mind, he heard Deaton ask Lydia if she had killed her monster.

"Yeah, a few months ago…" She answered in a choked voice that made Stiles want to hold her closer against him.

Stiles was unable to focus on what they were saying, it all seemed to happen too fast.

Deaton turned his eyes on Stiles, took him one more time in his arms and picked up his suitcase. As he began to walk backwards toward the gate, he smiled warmly at him, "Take care, Stiles."

Maybe this last sentence tasted too much like a definitive goodbye or maybe it was Lydia nudging him forward that made him react. Stiles caught his arm to hold him back and shrieked "I'm sorry!"

As soon as those words left his mouth, he felt like they were coming directly from his heart: a strained scream, articulated with difficulty as if it had desiccated after all those years waiting for the opportunity to escape his ribcage.

But once finally out, Stiles couldn't stop those words to keep coming out, savouring on his lips their redeeming taste. "I'm sorry, Alan, I'm sorry… Please, forgive me…" It was the only thing he could articulate. Lydia had let go of his hand, he could hear her breathe behind him, not too far away.

There was an edge to his voice that even Stiles could hear, increasing his own anxiety. Deaton laid his hand on Stiles's forearm. He could feel the warmth even through the three layers of clothes he was wearing.

"Stiles, there's nothing to forgive."

The flight attendant came back, allowing Stiles to wake up a little more and ask, "Where are you going?"

"I'm flying back to California. Call Scott, he'll tell you everything."

On those words, Deaton squeezed his arm, smiled to Lydia and followed the flight attendant. Stiles watched him hand his ticket and passport over. He was racking his brain to find something smart to say, something meaningful but he ended up whispering "thank you".

Had Deaton heard him when he turned around? His deep brown eyes stared right at him, an enigmatic look plastered on his face. "I'm glad you're home, son."

Then, he gave him one last smile and disappeared behind the door.

Stiles remained groggy a few seconds, unable to tear his eyes off of the glass door that only re-opened to let out a security officer. He felt Lydia's small fingers trying to find their way in his clenched fist, making him loosen his grip to take her hand in his own. She brought their two hands to her lips and kissed each of his fingers with closed eyes. Stiles cupped the back of her head with his free hand to draw her closer to him and plant a kiss on her forehead. Her hair felt so soft in his hand that he closed his eyes and massaged her skull, letting her deep breath engulf him. He was starting to feel better when he felt her lips on his eyelid and as he opened his eyes, he cursed himself for being the cause of what he saw in her beautiful green irises. She didn't have to say anything to make him understand she was desperate. Desperate for not being able to help him more, for not being able to do something else than hold his hand to support him.

He had heard her talk about her "monster", the one they had found in Moldova and could see how much it still affected her. At this moment, he feared that even with the passing of time, her eyes would always carry the icy glimmer Peter Hale had left there. If werewolves carried their dead in the colour of their eyes, it was easy to imagine that any murderer would be left with something tinging his soul forever. It was making him sick. Lydia didn't deserve such fate.

But Stiles had sworn to her that he would never let any dead soul take her away from the world of the living so, he did the only thing he could think of. He crashed his lips against hers, sighing her name and making a throaty noise that could have sounded obscene if it hadn't been filled with so much adoration. Lydia kissed him back with as much eagerness, making the silent promise to never let him lose his balance.

They stayed like this a long moment. Lydia was pulling him closer to her with her hands in his hair and Stiles responded by tightening his grip on her waist, not hurting her but firmly enough that there wouldn't be any empty space between their bodies.

Out of breath, Stiles eventually buried his nose in Lydia's hair, putting his arms around her neck and shivering at the feeling of her hands grazing their way up to his shoulder blades under his jacket. Her lips were on his neck, planting wet and gentle kisses on his skin. If he could, he would let himself disappear into her.

"I'm so proud of you," she whispered in the crook of his neck and it suddenly dawned on Stiles what exactly had happened. He was about to answer something when their names were called, startling them and reminding them about their plane. They slowly untangled. Without any other word, Lydia brushed Stiles's cheek from her fingertip and erased his last tears. "Come on," she said smiling with quivering lips.

She turned around, grabbed her suitcase and waited for Stiles to do the same before walking toward their boarding gate. It was hard to not steal glances at him. There was something about him, about the smile he had, about his walk that mesmerized her. When she realized she had never seen him like that, she thought that maybe, killing the monster wasn't her most beautiful victory.

He lifted his head, meeting her loving gaze and she felt herself flush but didn't look away. She smiled at him, unable to take her eyes off of that new intensity in the amber of his eyes and she could have sworn that as he laughed under his breath, she felt a heavy shade withdrawing from his body to merge into his sigh and disappear without a sound.

* * *

 **July 2022 – Moldova**

When they landed at the Chisinau airport in Moldova, Stiles and Lydia gave each other a few apprehensive glances. Everything was closed and soldiers were crowding the place. It felt like entering a deserted and forbidden area. Something must have happened. They were so uncomfortable that they hurried to take the train that would lead them to the countryside in a small house they had rented.

There were pages and pages in Claudia's notebook about the region's history, culture and legends. Thanks to her Moldovan best friend when she was a teenager, she knew all the countries in this area. She had been in Ukraine, Romania and Moldova for weekends or during her first years as a college student more times than she could count. According to what she had written in her notebook, she loved the region's folklore and legends about vampires and werewolves. Stiles still remembered (not without some irony) the number of stories she had told him when he was a kid that then filled his nights and games.

He had easily convinced Lydia to come to Moldova with a conversation that had begun with something he had said that had taken Lydia aback: "What if we find a werewolf museum! We could take pictures for Scott and make fun of his hairy cousins when we go back!". Lydia had tried to cover her smiles to avoid arousing his suspicion because he had kept talking without realizing the words that had left his mouth.

From an outsider perspective, it wasn't probably much but she knew it was a little revolution and she couldn't help feeling proud of him and feeling she had something to do with it. But Stiles had spent so many times observing her that she had realized it was impossible for her to hide anything from him. Eventually, he had asked her what was making her smile and she had told him it was the first time she heard him speak about Scott or about the idea to come back with such a light tone. Stiles had frozen for a moment, giving himself time to soak up his words. "When we go back…" as if a part of himself had already accepted the idea of going back and everything it implied without the other part noticing.

They hadn't given it more thoughts and had bought tickets to Moldova, without actually knowing what they would find.

After a few days spent hiking and visiting museums, they were asked to go to the nearest city to fix some administrative issues related to their visas.

It was a small town with an unpronounceable name situated (depending on who they asked) in Moldova, Romania or Ukraine. The chaos that must have followed the fall of the USSR was still affecting the region, the result being that the entire town and its surrounding area seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at the same time. As if time and age didn't have any leverage there.

Everything was grey: the streets, the buildings and even the sky. The city-centre was the only part of the town standing out. It was a maze of small streets, colourful buildings and half-timbered houses, a real tourist attraction in the middle of nowhere.

That day, the city was in a ferment. Music bands had formed at every corner, causing gatherings everywhere while other people were parading, singing and dancing. Despite the town's greyish tone, people were the picture of happiness.

Once Stiles and Lydia had went through their administrative formalities, they mingled with the crowd. People would hug or embrace them but they couldn't get what was celebrated. Eventually, as they were in a middle of a conversation, a man stumbled on Stiles's feet and asked them who they were in a decent English considering how drunk he was.

"You're tourists here? Now is a good time… People are no longer afraid to go downtown, people don't disappear anymore!"

"Disappear?"

"What were people afraid of?"

They had spoken at the same time, making the man laugh. He grabbed their shoulders to bring them closer to him and whisper to their ears. Lydia forced herself to not wrinkle her nose at his breath heavy with alcohol.

"For years, people had been disappearing. They went downtown and _poof_! They just disappeared! But it's not the case anymore… It's been six months… Nobody knows why or how…" The man tightened his grip and resumed, trying to sound more mysterious. "But there are some people who swear they saw a monster downtown… Some say it was a werewolf…" He stepped back and burst out laughing when he saw their panic-stricken stares. "Or it could just be the mayor trying to increase tourism with some mystery, who knows… I don't believe in those disappearances or in werewolves. It's only good to make kids go to bed early if you want my opinion…. Anyway, enjoy the festivities!"

The man was swallowed by the crowd before Stiles could ask him more questions. He turned to look at Lydia and the same shadow went through their eyes. Was it true? Could it be Peter? It had been months since Stiles had stopped communicating with the woman they met in Spain, he had no idea if one of her leads would have led them to Moldova.

They didn't dare talk about it, it all seemed so far away and unfamiliar now, almost irrelevant. Deep buried in their thoughts, they walked away from the crowd with absolutely no idea where they were heading.

After a little while, Stiles noticed that Lydia had quickened her step. He tried to call her but she didn't react, he tried to catch up with her and face her but she got around him with an empty stare.

Without faltering, Lydia kept heading downtown, seeming to follow an itinerary she knew by heart, only increasing Stiles's agitation. She finally stopped a few feet before him and stared at something on the wall to her right. Stiles had to wait until he was next to her to notice the entrance to a small back street that widened after the first houses.

When she vanished into the darkness of the alley without any hesitation, Stiles gasped and tried to call her once again but he was met with her silence. Muttering between his teeth, he quickly followed her before losing sight of her. He lifted his head and barely made out the sky: the roofs must have started collapsing toward each other years ago. After a little while, he even had troubles making out what was in right front of him and kept tripping over rocks.

"Lydia? You _know_ I would follow you anywhere but I'm pretty sure this is the entrance to hell and I'm not ready for that…"

His voice trembled a little with anxiety but Lydia didn't slow down, as if she hadn't even heard him. Stiles stayed behind her, on the lookout for anything suspicious and regularly checking behind him or above them. But he knew it was pointless. Even if something happened, they didn't have anything to protect themselves and couldn't hide anywhere. They were trapped.

Nothing in that alley gave him confidence and the fact that Lydia hadn't been answering for a while made matters worse. She kept going ahead, her back straight, her head up and with a confident step.

Tripping over something flabby, Stiles lowered his eyes and saw rats and cockroaches hugging the wall. He didn't know if they were leading them somewhere or just following them and wasn't sure which would be worse. He gulped when he realized that what he thought were rocks were actually bones. Usually, danger didn't frighten him but, in that moment, he couldn't control anything. The only thing he could do was follow Lydia who seemed to be in a trance. The urge to grab her by the waist and carry her on his shoulder to take her away from that place kept getting stronger.

"Lydia… I'm just gonna throw an idea around, may be silly but… What if we turned around and I don't know… Go somewhere nicer than here? Like a park, a restaurant, the dentist, a lecture on arachnids… Anywhere but here, really…"

He was keeping his stare on the ground and almost ran into Lydia who had stopped to turn toward him. Her eyes were on him but her stare was distant. She touched his arm, as if she was trying to comfort him, but her hand was frozen and he felt shivers down his spine. Then, she turned around and resumed walking.

Stiles sighed and followed her. After a little while, he had to slow down. Something wasn't right. The wind carried toward them a heavy and sickly scent, forcing him to wrinkle his nose. He wished he wouldn't recognize that smell. He had met it too many times and knew it would never leave his memory.

The smell of decomposing corpses.

To Stiles's utter despair, Lydia kept heading toward this stench's origin. He sped up to avoid losing her, cursing himself for not carrying any kind of weapon. The more they were moving forward, the more unbearable the smell was getting. At one point, Stiles even had to cover his nose with his sleeve to breathe without choking. Lydia remained unruffled.

She eventually stopped, facing an imposing shadow laying against the wall.

After a few seconds, Lydia started to cough and suffocate. She huddled up with a hand covering her mouth and Stiles thought she was going to be sick. When she turned around, she looked panicked but her stare met Stiles's which seemed to soothe her.

"Stiles?... Where are we? – "

He rushed at her, took off the flannel that he wore over his shirt to roll it up into a ball. He covered her nose with it, keeping a hand against her lower back. "What do you mean _where are we_? You _lead us_ here!"

Her stare wandered aimlessly around them until it fastened on the mass before them. As seconds went by, their eyes adapted to the darkness and they were able to make out a man. He must have died a long time ago judging by his wounds colonized by insects and the purplish shade of his skin.

"Do you think that's _him_?"

They let Stiles's question float between them, neither finding the strength to specify the _him_. Lydia was clinging to Stiles's arm and slowly detached herself from it to step forward, looking steadily at the corpse.

"Stiles, I… I know that place…"

He gulped and closed his eyes for a few seconds. It felt like he was suffocating, like he was in a nightmare and couldn't wake up.

"From my nightmares…"

Lydia had carefully stepped closer to the corpse, letting the hand gripping Stiles's flannel slowly fall to her side. He fought back the urge to grab her shoulder to take her away from it and simply laid his hand on her arm. "Lydia, – "

Her hand came resting above his own, cutting him off while she resumed her observation of the corpse. Stiles saw her discreetly counting her fingers and felt his heart beat a little harder, drawing a smile on his lips. Seeing Lydia taking up one of his habits was making his inside melt but it wasn't the place or time. He tried to hide his smile, she had talked to him enough times about her nightmares for him to know that if she felt like living one, she must have been terrified. His worry was reinforced when he saw her look around with wild eyes. Kneeling beside her, he took her hand in his and tried to repress his growing feeling of nausea.

"Lydia," Stiles delicately took her chin between his fingers, forcing her to focus on him. "Look at me, focus on my voice, everything's alright." When her stare finally steadied itself on him, he stood up and she followed him. But even standing, her stare turned to the corpse again. Then, Stiles took both her hands in his. "No, Lydia, look at me, only me." She turned her head, he could tell she was fighting against herself to stay focused. "We're safe, alright? You're safe." She nodded, chewing on her lips. "Talk to me… Are you sure you came here in your nightmares?"

Once again, she nodded, slower, "Yeah…" Her voice was a little choked so she cleared her throat. The sound seemed to make her fully come back to reality. She untangled her hands from Stiles's and looked around with a more fixated stare. "There…", she said pointing at a corner further away and stepping closer. "If we kept going, we would find a flight of stairs with a wooden plank to replace the third step." Stiles followed her and grabbed her firmly by the waist when she got ready to walk down the stairs plunged in darkness. Without trying to move further, she turned around. "And there," she freed herself from Stiles's arms to head toward another corner. "That's where he…" He came closer behind her, circling her shoulders with a protective and reassuring arm. His chest tightened and he felt his stomach turn out at the sight of human remains. They were unrecognizable but anybody could tell they were too small to be adult's remains.

Lydia clung to Stiles's hand, unable to avert her eyes and Stiles buried his nose in her hair just above her ear, feeling helpless against what must be going through her head. He knew her nightmares made her often feel like she was in that alley and given the utter pain printed in the pose of some corpses, he knew his small reassuring words were feeling like a coat full of holes in winter. But he tried anyway, telling her as softly as he could "It's over, whatever was there is dead, it's over now…"

Feeling her shaking all over in his arms, he tightened his embrace. "Lydia, come, it's no use staying here." But she couldn't move and Stiles had to pull her backwards to make her avert her eyes and eventually start to walk again. He held her firmly and drove her toward the exit. They passed by the man's corpse and Lydia pulled slightly on Stiles's hand to make him stop. "Stiles…" She didn't have to finish her sentence for him to understand and step closer with her without loosening his grip on her. She needed to know and truth be told, so did he. He watched as she covered her nose with his flannel again, stepping closer. Then, he followed her, pulling up the collar of his shirt to breathe through the fabric.

After a little while, Lydia averted her eyes from the corpse to look at Stiles. All he could see were her slightly wet eyes, the rest of her face being hidden behind his flannel. "That's him…"

Her voice was weak and he didn't know if she was telling him or asking him, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind: it was Peter Hale. He had practiced shooting on his picture enough times to recognize him anywhere. So, he slowly nodded, not knowing how she would react and saw her shake and dissolve into tears. To make sure she wouldn't faint and hurt herself, Stiles took the back of her head in his hand and stood up, keeping her head nestled in the crook of his neck. They stayed like that a few minutes, Stiles gently rocking Lydia while she silently cried with one of her hand clinging as tight as possible to the back of his shirt.

When her tears were replaced by quiet sniffs, Lydia lifted her head. Stiles couldn't restrain his lips from drawing a thin smile when he caught sight of her swollen eyes. He kissed both her eyelids when something struck him, "Does your scar hurt?"

She shook her head and lifted her blouse to look at it. Stiles kneeled in front of her to have a better look. He brushed her skin from the tip of his fingers, making her slightly shiver and giving her goosebumps. The scar looked exactly the same as it had been looking for the past few months: a single white line along her hip. No pain, no burning sensation. Almost automatically, Stiles caressed her skin with his lips, not quite kissing it but with enough pressure to coax a giggle out of Lydia. She laid her left hand against his temple to make him stand up and kissed him with a tenderness that completely dazed Stiles.

Then, she started to laugh, scaring all the rats around them with a sound they had probably never heard. She stepped back, took Stiles by the hand and led him toward the daylight.

That day, the police received an anonymous phone call reporting a decomposing corpse in the Tisiphone alley. The death remained a mystery. No weapon had been found but residues of blood and flesh were found under the dead's fingernails, suggesting that he had disemboweled himself. The corpse was burnt and the case was closed. He didn't match any description of any missing person anyway.

xxxxx

It had started raining, forcing them to find shelter in some kind of diner that seemed to come straight out of the 70' with its flashy colours.

Sitting across from each other on the worn out leather of the small booths, the impact of what had just happened suddenly hit them, obliterating their momentary euphoria. They remained silent during long minutes, letting their stares absently follow the wood knots and cracks on the table while the din all around them was slowly engulfing their consciousness. When the waitress brought them their large plate of fries and their milkshakes, they barely gave a hint of a smile to thank her.

After a while, Stiles lifted his head and slowly opened his mouth, still thinking about the best way to ask Lydia how she had found Peter's corpse. But before a sound escaped his lips, he changed his mind and didn't say anything.

As they heard a police car siren in the street, they both turned their heads to look outside. The moving blue light was refracting in the hundreds of raindrops slipping along the window and they both stayed hypnotized by that curious firework for a few seconds even after the car was gone.

Their stares met and when Stiles realized he was unable to interpret Lydia's silent pleading, he opened his mouth.

"What happened over there?"

He wished he had phrased his question in a way that wouldn't sound so cold and distant but his lips were burning with the need to ask.

She shrugged, turning her eyes towards the street and seemed to follow the slow race of the colourless raindrops along the window. "I don't know," she answered in a distant voice. "I remember telling myself that Peter was maybe the monster the man was talking about and in one blink, I'm heaving in front of his corpse…"

"Is it the same as what happened in Spain?"

A shiver ran cold down Stiles's spine at the memory. He had rarely felt such terror as when he had seen her empty bed and then, when he had found her catatonic in the train station. Many times that night, when she had eventually fallen asleep in his arms, he had wondered what could have happened if he hadn't woken up soon enough to find her before the opening of the train station, before the police…

She shrugged again, her red tongue wetting her lips before answering with a voice as empty as her stare. "Kind of… Not really…"

Stiles nodded slowly several times, his look and thoughts losing themselves in the same emptiness as Lydia. "How – " He let his words hang in mid-air, quivering somewhere between them, unable to verbalize his thoughts.

"What?" She had eventually turned her head to look at him and Stiles had to lower his gaze. She knew what he wanted to ask and he could read in her eyes how much she was already annoyed with his question. "Stiles, please stop beating about the bush and ask your damn question."

"How did you know he was there?"

Closing her eyes a few seconds, she breathed in deeply. When she opened them again, her stare had lost some of its anger.

"I didn't know where I was going, if that's your question. It's not the first time I've found a dead body without knowing why or how…"

Unaware of his body language, Stiles let out a sigh and looked away, which only made Lydia's anger surface again.

"What do you want me to say?" She resumed, raising her voice before pursing her lips when she realized the waitress was frowning at them. Trying to suppress the infuriation in her tone, she added, "I don't have the answer. Believe me, I wish I had… But I don't. You cannot blame me for that. I blame myself enough, thank you…"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry… It's just…" He nervously raked his fingers through his hair and continued, trying to keep his voice as low as possible to avoid drawing attention. "I'm just trying to understand. I've been looking for him for years and you –"

He was fighting hard against himself to not let his bitterness get the best out of him. She hadn't done anything wrong after all.

Suddenly, reality hit Lydia in full force and she finished the sentence Stiles had left hanging. "And I find him without even looking for him or knowing how…"

Ashamed of his own thoughts, Stiles nodded and stared at the raindrops on the window.

"I don't blame you, that's not the problem, I'd just like to understand, you know? I spent so many years… _Wasted_ so many years… I could have been looking for you instead." A sad smile stretched on his lips at that. He had forbidden himself to see her or even think about her while she was clearly the answer to all his questions. She was raising other ones, of course, but the change was more than welcomed. He heaved a long sigh. "And all of it seems so useless now. I could have done so many other things with my life. I always thought that the moment I'd find him, it would… I don't know, I'd feel better I guess…" He had to stop to find the right words, burying his head in his hands. "But it doesn't change anything… I'm still the same boy who took a plane to cross the ocean more than ten years ago. My parents are still dead, it won't bring back Allison and it won't give you back the years that bastard stole from you, or from Scott…"

When he raised his head to meet her stare, she was looking at him with a wrecked expression that broke his heart. She opened her mouth, almost stumbling over every word she was using while fixing the untouched milkshake in front of her.

"Is that really what you think? That you're still the same? That everything that happened was useless?"

"No, come on Lyds, that's not what I meant…" She was drawing circles in the condensation of her glass and he instinctively grabbed her hand to catch her attention. His voice was so soft it made her eyes tear up. "What I meant was that I thought I _had_ to seek some revenge on him for everything and everyone we lost. I thought it would help me find peace. But it doesn't. They aren't less dead and it doesn't fill the emptiness they left behind."

"Maybe… But it still led you to me and you saved my life, Stiles… So, if you say it was all useless, I – "

"Lydia," he cut her off, squeezing her hand a little harder and blaming himself again for making her believe he was regretting the choices that had led them here. "If there's one thing I don't regret, that's you, you know that, right?" He brought her hand to his lips and faintly kissed it. "You can't doubt it, not after all this time. Please, tell me you know it because if you say I saved your life, there's no word for what you did for me." A sad laugh escaped his lips, soon replaced by an adoring smile when she brought his hand in hers and kissed it while beaming at him. "You brought me so much more than I could have imagined," he continued with a choked voice. "The knowledge that this fucker is finally dead is weightless in comparison… I'm angry at myself for ever thinking it could magically change everything. I was blinded by my own rage… And now that you're here with me, I can't believe how lost and wrong I was. You've always been it for me and I don't know how I could have forgotten that for so long… Nothing makes me happier than you."

Lydia smiled bashfully at him and opened his hand to kiss his palm and wrist, increasing the beating of Stiles's heart. "Yeah, I know what you mean…" she whispered against his skin before letting go of his hand to hide behind her hands. "I'm sorry, it's just…" She slowly ran her fingers through her hair and pulled at the roots. "I just feel _so_ lost. It scares me… Not knowing what happened terrifies me. I thought I got rid of that bond with him but I still found his corpse!" Her voice was shaking with rage and her eyes were starting to glow with anger. She quickly wiped away her unshed tears with a groan. "I'm so sick of it and I'm sick of crying and sobbing over nothing without being able to stop! You have no idea how frustrating it is to do something without knowing how it works!"

Stiles couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping his mouth. Not knowing how her powers worked was upsetting her even more than what had actually happened. He raised his hands to apologize when she glared at him.

"I'm sorry, sorry…" He stayed frozen a few more seconds, looking at her with that half smile she liked so much which eventually made her laugh under her breath. That sound had the effect of a puff of fresh air, lightening the mood. "Let's try to understand, then, shall we?" Lydia wiped her eyes one more time, looking more relaxed and nodded. "I'm gonna be the outside observer," Stiles resumed, "and ask you some questions. You'll answer as honestly as possible, alright?" Trying to cheer her up a little more and thinking about the time they had went shopping and she had ogled at him with an enticing spark in her eyes, he winked while adding, "picture me with a hat and a grey suit…"

She giggled softly and straightened in her seat, tilting her head. "Grey? I like you better in that dark blue suit you have."

"Alright, dark blue it is. Ready?"

"Oh, I'm always ready for you, _detective_ Stilinski… Just one question though… Could you take off your jacket at one moment and roll up your sleeves? And then stand up with your hands in your pockets and frown while looking at me? And loosen your tie, obviously…" Stiles felt his cheeks heat up under her playful gaze and her teasing tone. Of course, she would beat him at his own game.

"Yeah… I… I could do that…", he answered hoarsely, gulping and trying to focus his attention on what was preoccupying them and not on the way Lydia had pronounced the word _detective_ like it was a chocolate she was rolling over her tongue.

It made her smile. She crossed her legs under the table and now that the air had been cleared from any heaviness, she replied with a more neutral tone. "I'm sorry, I'll stop…" She laughed and took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, looking down and suddenly shy.

When she lifted her head, they stared at each other and burst out laughing. It was ridiculous. The same glimmer of disbelief passed through their eyes. Maybe flirting was their own way to cope with the traumatic event of the day… Stiles felt like if Lydia wasn't there to ground him to something familiar, he would drift and float away. In front of him was a life without Peter Hale and even if it had been months since he had stopped looking for him, his death put a lid on that part of his life. He had his entire life ahead of him and it made him a little dizzy. Silently thanking all the deities in the world for Lydia Martin and her ability to tether him to a solid ground, he leaned forward to kiss her and she met him halfway over the table. She tasted like strawberry. Stiles cupped her cheek to kiss her more, her laugh vibrating against his lips. "I think I'm in love with you," he whispered before she sat down.

She chuckled faintly and planted another kiss on his lips, whispering as well, "I think I might be too."

Stiles felt his pulse pound stronger at his ears as he realized it was the first time they said such things to each other, despite them being more than obvious. Since they had began their road trip through Europe, Stiles was finally breathing, letting himself enjoy the simple and good things life had to offer. But there was something different about that moment. For the first time since his mother passed away, he was letting that little voice he had always hushed speak louder than the others. Because for the first time in his entire life, his future happiness wasn't just a wishful thinking, it was right in front of him.

They sat down, keeping their fingers intertwined on the table.

"So," Lydia eventually said, "ask me your questions."

"Yeah, yes," Stiles cleared his throat before resuming. "Do you remember what you had felt in Spain when you went to the train station? Was is the same?"

"I don't remember much from that moment but it wasn't exactly the same. In Spain, it was as if my body and mind were tools he was using. Today, I felt _carried_ more then _pushed_ if that makes sense… Something was drawing me to him but it wasn't weighing on my shoulders, it wasn't scary, it was… light."

"And your scar didn't pull once?"

"No… Not even this morning or when we arrived, I didn't notice anything."

"So, one thing is 99 percent sure, it wasn't your connection to Peter that drew you to him."

"Yeah… But it wasn't me either…"

"What do you mean?"

"I felt… some sort of presence with me, inside of me."

"Someone?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

Stiles slightly frowned, trying to clarify his thoughts. "Did you ever feel that same way?"

"Never like that, no. You remember I told you Alan explained to me you helped me fight back against Peter's…invasions, right?" Stiles nodded. "Well, you help me because I can feel a tether between us, something anchoring me to the Earth so to say. But earlier, it was different. I felt tied to something or someone but it wasn't coming… from _here_."

"From _here_? You mean not from the Earth?" He was preparing his brain to accept the idea that Lydia was communicating with aliens but she seemed to read his mind and smiled while patting his hand.

"Not like that, you goofball! No, I mean more like something dead or from the past. Something that wouldn't have an anchor _here_ like you can have. It was both in me and somewhere else, it made me… stronger somehow, a little nostalgic also. Like… Like some sensation you'd have forgotten and is suddenly coming back to you."

"Like a memory?" Stiles asked, he started to have a good picture of the situation but couldn't connect all the dots yet. What she was describing was reminding him of what he had felt while dancing in Prague streets. "The memory of long-gone friends or old stories you like to recall because they make you feel… warm and cosy?"

"Do you mean like what happened when we shared our memories?" He shrugged and nodded. "But, it can't be the same… I wasn't in some… fugue state, I remember everything in Prague and there wasn't any dead body – " She left her words in mid-air and absently looked at Stiles, trying to figure something out.

"Yeah, but if it was the same kind of feeling, it can still mean som-" He stopped when he saw Lydia's eyes widen. "What?"

"Allison…"

Stiles felt his eyes open as round as Lydia's and he swore his heart stopped beating five entire seconds. He slowly wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue before resuming.

"Al- Allison drew you to him?"

"I don't know… Do you think?" He shrugged again, completely unable to put his thoughts back on track. When she continued, Lydia's stare was distant. "I saw her at the hospital. When I was with Deaton and my scar suddenly burnt. I saw Peter and I saw her. I… I think she killed him and led me to him."

Stiles frowned, forcing his brain to focus again. "But, you said you had felt a presence inside you, not beside you… When you were drawn to his corpse, it wasn't like something you were witnessing from the outside, right?"

"No…" Her stare lost its distance and focused on Stiles again, she crossed her legs the other way. "But what does it have to do with all the rest?"

The question Stiles would have to ask next wasn't an easy one. He tried to phrase it in his head and took Lydia's hands in his own.

"I'm sorry to ask you that but… What happened when you felt her death? Allison's death…"

She slowly gulped and Stiles squeezed her hands a little harder. "It was… As if I was being stabbed and at the same time, I was watching her… die" She choked on that last word. "I screamed so loud… I don't think I ever screamed that loud. Then, when it was over, there was a weight crushing my chest and preventing me from standing… like a string or a rope wrapped around me and dragging me down."

"I'm sorry, Lyds…" he said, kissing her knuckles firmly and feeling awful for making her reminisce her traumas but it was a necessary question. His voice was soft when he resumed. "So, it felt more like what you felt during your nightmares, right? Which makes sense because you were going through Peter, so to say. But it was different today, right? Like it was different in Prague…"

She nodded and looked down.

"So, it wasn't Allison?" When she lifted her head, she looked so disappointed that Stiles almost wanted to reassure her and tell her that it was actually Allison. But something was telling him it wasn't that easy. Besides, it could be dangerous to make her believe she was able to communicate with Allison.

"I didn't say that. If you saw Allison and if your feelings tell you it's all connected, then she must have something to do with it."

"Or maybe it was just another of his mind tricks…" She took her head in her hands and exhaled slowly. Stiles really wished he could say something to help her but nothing came to his mind, so he waited until she lifted her head. "Can we just head back to the house?"

"Yes, yeah, of course," he answered standing up and holding out his hand. She took it and leaned against him as they paid and walked out.

xxxxxx

Lydia went straight to bed to take a nap. "We'll stay here as long as you need, alright?" Stiles told her, kissing Lydia's cheek as she snuggled under the blanket. "We'll figure it out, I promise."

She turned around to face him and tried to throw a reassuring smile at him, "I know," she replied in a low voice. "Can you wake me up when you start making dinner? I wanna cook with you."

"You mean, you wanna watch me cook?"

Lydia scoffed at his smirk and closed her eyes, "Yeah, I wanna watch you cook."

As she slowly fell asleep, he stood up from the bed and quietly went to the door.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?" he turned around and smiled at her sleepy stare and heavy fluttering eyelids.

"Thank you for being there for me."

"I'll always be there for you, Lyds."

If he hadn't gazed at her a little longer, he would have missed the tiny "I know" she whispered in her sleep. With a last smile, he closed the door and let her rest.

xxxxxx

Stiles had spent the night tossing and turning, tormented by what Lydia had told him. He knew he could solve it, he knew he could figure it out, but there was a missing piece to the puzzle he just couldn't find. It was driving him crazy. When he woke up at 7 AM, he figured he must have slept three hours maybe, but no more than four. Lydia's side in the bed was cold and empty and it jolted him awake.

He stood up, put a shirt on and hurried to the living room. By now, he knew that Lydia's side being empty didn't mean she had run away, but his heart seemed to be always slower than his mind when Lydia was concerned. Like it still feared she would abandon him to live a better life.

She was reading a book in an armchair, a few "cosy" scented candles lit on the coffee table and wrapped in one of his hoodies.

"Morning, gorgeous," he told her as she lifted her head to greet him with a smile still full of sleep.

"Hi," she pursed her lips, "what are you doing up so early?"

Stiles came closer to her and leaned over the armchair to kiss her. "Couldn't sleep, and you?"

"Same…"

"When did you get up?"

"Around five, I think." She laid her book on the coffee table and rubbed her eyes. "I need to figure it out, Stiles. I hate that it bothers me so much, but it does… I need to know if it has something to do with Allison, I need to know what he did to my mind…"

"I get it Lydia," Stiles kneeled in front of her and took her hands, "I swear I'll help you. I know we can figure it out, okay?" She nodded and leaned her forehead against his.

Stiles eventually broke the silence, yawning. "Come on, I'll cook you breakfast. We can't think on an empty stomach."

xxxxx

They were silently eating, both deep in their thoughts. Lydia was blaming herself for bringing them back into the supernatural world, into Peter's world… She was afraid Stiles would eventually contact someone from his past or someone who would be able to help them and she didn't want that. He wasn't ready; she could read it in his eyes sometimes, hear it in the way he would deeply exhale in his disturbed sleeps on some nights. The idea that he would still do whatever it would take to help her was scaring her because her happiness wasn't worth his sanity. They had to find another way.

She was so focused on her idea, trying to concentrate without really knowing what she was looking for that she didn't even notice Stiles's stare on her. He was fidgeting with his fork, repeating their conversation from the day before in his head to put his finger on something. There had to be something he had missed…

The silence was slowly making him more and more nervous. "You know what bothers me the most? What you said yesterday, the way you phrased it… I keep feeling like it's familiar, you know? Like I've heard it before."

Lydia didn't reply right away. Her gaze was distant, focused on something Stiles couldn't see or hear.

"Lydia?"

Still looking somewhere behind Stiles's shoulders, she answered with a faraway edge to her voice. " _Ideas que habían pasado muchas veces aleteando como pájaros nocturnos sobre su cabeza, pero que se le desbarataban en un reguero de plumas cuando trataba de atraparlas._ "

"What?"

His voice made her avert her eyes and she looked at him, but she still seemed lost in her daydream, "Ideas that had often fluttered around her head like nocturnal birds but dissolved into a trickle of feathers when she tried to catch hold of them."

A flood of repressed memories came back to Stiles, " _Love in the Time of Cholera_?"

It seemed to break Lydia out of her trance, "What?"

"That's the book, right? _Love in the Time of Cholera_ by Gabriel Garcia Marquez." Stiles frowned, not understanding why Lydia would quote that book and why it sounded so important. As Lydia was opening her mouth to reply something, it hit Stiles. "That's it!"

"What's it?"

Lydia was staring at him, confused about what had just happened and trying to understand what a Colombian novelist had to do with her situation.

"Lydia, you're so smart, I –" He didn't finish his sentence and leaned over the table to plant a sloppy kiss on her lips that only reached her nose.

"What's happening?" She asked, laughing.

Stiles sat back. "I don't have the answer, but I think I may have a lead… Oh my God, I can't believe I didn't think about her sooner!" His eyes were wide and he had covered his mouth with his hand, not looking at anything in particular.

As he had stopped talking, Lydia tried to bring his attention back to her, "Her?"

It seemed to be enough to help him focus on her again. "There are so many things my brain has hidden from me…" he gulped, visibly shaken and continued slowly. "Sad things mostly, like that one. I can't remember exactly when it was, or where. I must have been in… England, or maybe Ireland."

He leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms and looking down. Only listening to the tug in her chest, Lydia stood up to sit next to him and held his hand. The movement made Stiles lift his head, a look of gratitude in his eyes. He let her uncross his arms and stroke his hands on the table. She was so close he just had to tilt his head slightly to lean it against hers. Hypnotized, he stared at her fingers tracing smoothing circles on his hands and wrists.

Seeing him so small and vulnerable made Lydia sick. She would have wanted to be strong enough already to make an armour out of her body to protect him from all his demons, everything that stopped him from shining as bright as the Sun. She tried to calm her racing heart. As she was breathing better, she felt Stiles relax and when he started telling his story, his voice was more composed.

"Some years ago, as I was following one of my leads, I kept running on the same woman on the crime scenes. I could tell she wasn't there on purpose, but it wasn't a coincidence either. There was something about her behaviour… She always looked… lost." He sighed and turned his stare toward Lydia. "When I think about it now, I guess she acted the same way you did when you found Peter." Lydia felt her mouth opening in a silent _oh_ , but she didn't say anything to not interrupt him. Stiles shook his head, "Not exactly like you, actually. There was something about her… She didn't look like she _belonged_ here, you know? Wild eyes and muttering things, as if she was talking to someone. She was always casting frightened glances all around her, even when she seemed to have _woken up_. And the second the police arrived, she would take off, even more scared."

Stiles didn't know what or why he had that feeling but he knew there was something supernatural about her. Unfortunately, she had always ran away before he could talk to her. The same thing kept happening until the day he didn't see her.

"I randomly found her a few days later, panhandling on a church's steps. She looked even more wrecked than the other times I had seen her. If I hadn't heard what she was muttering, I wouldn't have recognized her."

"What was she saying?"

Swallowing slowly, Stiles answered with his eyes closed and a broken voice, " _Where is he?_ Over and over again, just like on the crime scenes."

The tears Lydia could hear in his voice tightened her chest and she felt the urge to take Stiles in her arms. She circled his shoulders and laid her head against the nape of his neck, finding peace in the weight of his cheek against her shoulder and the brush of his breath against her skin.

"Who had she lost?" she asked in a low voice.

Stiles slowly lowered his head and kissed her lips to push the darkness inside of him away. "Her emotional tether."

"That's… awful…" Why did it feel like the worst thing that could happen to someone? She was suddenly overwhelmed by the fear of floating in some kind of other dimension, without anyone to tether her to the Earth, to life and it was unbearable. Her hands clung tighter around Stiles.

"It is," he answered with another kiss.

"Do you think she was like me?"

He shrugged and stood up to grab some tissues, gesturing Lydia to follow him on the couch. They sat and Lydia wrapped her arm around Stiles's shoulders, playing absently with his soft hair.

"I can't tell if she was like you. To me, she wasn't making any sense at the time. I bought a few things for her with the little money I had and sat next to her. She told me she came from Spain, I can't remember what she was doing in Britain… I couldn't understand everything she was saying, it was in Spanish half the time. What I remember is that she was blaming herself for not being able to help, she knew she could, but didn't know how to trigger her abilities anymore. She said she used to feel tethered to the Earth and to something else, _not from here_."

Lydia shivered. If that woman was indeed like her, it meant there was a way to control those abilities, whatever they were.

"I think she heard voices," Stiles continued, "she kept talking to them. Do you have that too?"Hearing no answer, Stiles untangled himself from her embrace to look at her. Lydia almost looked mortified. "Lydia, hey…" he took her quivering chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him. "You don't have to be ashamed with me, come on…"

His voice was so soft, his touch so gentle and his stare filled with so much adoration, she couldn't contain her sobs any longer and buried her head in his hoodie, engulfing herself in his presence. He hugged her tightly, rubbing her head in smooth circles until she was able to answer.

"I… I hear them sometimes." Her voice was muffled by his hoodie and he loosened his embrace.

"Why did you never tell me?"

Lydia wiped her eyes and folded her legs on the couch to rest her head on Stiles's lap. "Because I was ashamed," she answered quietly. "And besides, I almost haven't heard any since I met you…"

" _Almost_ is too much," he continued while tenderly combing her hair with his fingers, "especially if you don't know how to control it… I told you right from the beginning: there's nothing you could tell me that would make me think you're crazy."

Her head shook lightly with a silent laugh. "I know," she whispered and turned on her back to look at him. "What happened after?"

"That's the most unclear part, but that's also probably the part that could help us… She said she had to go to the cafeteria in some city I couldn't understand. But now, I'm sure she meant Chisinau. She also told something about a Nemeton… You remember what I told you about it, right?"

Lydia nodded and shuddered, was there a Nemeton nearby? "Anything else?"

Sighing, Stiles ran a hand through his hair and behind his neck, "I can't remember. She wanted to go there because she was sure she'd find answers. Then, she handed me her _Love in the Time of Cholera_ edition, she used the bilingual one to learn English... she told me I'd need it someday. I wanted to give it back to her, but… the next day, It was _her_ corpse on the crime scene."

"I'm sorry, Stiles…" she rubbed the hand he still had in her hair. "Do you still have it?"

Stiles shook his head. "I lost it one day. It intrigued me so much I kept reading it over and over again, but I never found anything," a laugh escaped his lips. "I can't believe the answer was you, you're always the answer… I should know it by now."

Lydia smiled affectionately and straightened up. "I'm gonna grab your laptop and we're gonna look for cafeterias in Chisinau or any mention of a Nemeton, it will be a start."

"But it's weird, right? A _cafeteria_? What are we looking for exactly?"

"I don't know," she answered with a shrug. "It is weird, but it's our only lead for now."

She stood up with one last kiss and as she left the room, Stiles let out a heavy sigh. Whatever they would find, he swore to himself to not let it hurt Lydia in any way. Peter's shadow wouldn't haunt her anymore, he would make sure of that.

As Lydia entered their bedroom and found Stiles's laptop, she inhaled deeply. Whatever they would find, she swore to herself to not let it hurt him in any way. There wouldn't be any sword of Damocles above Stiles's pretty head, not anymore. She would make sure of that.


	15. Unacknowledged light

You saw the joy in my face  
and wondered its origin. I knew not  
how to say it aloud, how to give  
sound to the sensation, that I  
am watching you fall, slowly,  
in love with yourself.  
I know you lost pieces, acres of  
treasured land you kept safe in yourself,  
and I know the sound  
of the wind in those trees has haunted you  
ever since.

I am watching the seeds we planted  
take root, watching them grow,  
and all that empty space turn to  
life again. There is so much  
unacknowledged light in you,  
and I will never stop turning my face  
to it.

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

* * *

 **July 2022 - Moldova**

It was a little after 2 PM and they were standing in front of the coffee shop _The Nemeton_. Lydia had realized the woman could have meant _cafeteria_ in Spanish, a coffee shop. Neither of them was sure it was an actual lead, but it was the only one they had and Lydia kept feeling something positive about it. So, here they were.

The frontage was very standard. A wooden door and two window panes each side with thick burgundy curtains inside and the list of their different coffees, teas and beverages written on slates. The name _The Nemeton_ laid above the door in plain black letters

They nervously looked at each other and Stiles eventually stepped forward, opening the door. Because of the thick curtains, they expected to find a small and dark room, maybe neon lit.

But it was the opposite.

The room was huge and flooded by a natural light, pouring into the room through a round skylight in the centre of the roof. A circular, stone fountain the same size was right under it. The muffled sound of the water regularly splashing in the pool combined with the soft music of an acoustic guitar floated around them and wrapped them in a warm blanket. Lydia caught herself smiling and never wanting to leave that place. As she turned to look at Stiles, she found him looking as relaxed as her. There were people sitting at tables scattered around the fountain and separated by trees or sculpted wooden screens.

People were talking, but the atmosphere seemed to compel everyone to talk quietly. They could even hear the sounds of spoons against the porcelain cups and the occasional whistle of the barista behind his counter – Sven, according to his name tag.

He greeted them with a smile, gesturing them to sit at a table. After a quick exchange of glances, they found a table at the back of the room where three shelves were fixed on the wall with books. Among the books in Romanian and Moldovan, a few were in English. Mostly thrillers and sappy novels.

As the barista approached with the menus, Stiles rolled up his sleeves and leaned toward Lydia, whispering "And now what?"

She shrugged and smiled at the barista, thanking him.

Stiles caught Sven's stare lingering on the tattoo on his forearm and swore he saw his eyes twitch. When she felt the man's gaze avert on her, Lydia shuddered a little and couldn't help meeting his eyes. A silent conversation seemed to strike up between the three of them, isolating them from the other customers in the coffee shop. Sven's deep blue eyes seemed to bore deep in their minds, scan their souls. Lydia didn't know if she felt uncomfortable or soothed. There was still something reassuring in the way he would read into them, as if he knew the effect he could have on people and tried to be as respectful as possible. It made Lydia wonder if the entire coffee shop wasn't just an optical illusion, an image he would have created in his brain and reflected in reality.

Without a word, the barista took the menus back, tilted his head toward the counter and left. It burst the bubble around them and they became aware of their surroundings again. They let the guitar music, the water and the muffled discussion lull them a little while and without a word, made their way toward Sven who was drying some cups.

He told them something in a deep voice and a language they didn't understand.

"Find the staircase, you'll find your answers," he repeated in English without raising his head from his cups.

"What staircase?" asked Stiles.

The second he asked the question, he knew it was the wrong one because Lydia grabbed his arm and Sven lifted his head, frowning. "She knows," he answered with a nod, pointing at Lydia. Then, he took a tray with four coffees and left to greet more customers.

Stiles turned to look at Lydia. "Do you see any staircase?" He asked in a low voice.

She shrugged and scanned the room. Stiles followed her stare and they suddenly noticed an elegant iron spiral staircase across the room that they both could swear wasn't there when they had first come in. As they stepped nearer, they realized they still couldn't understand a single word from the conversations between the customers. Everything was muffled, even the laughs and the soft noise of the cups Sven laid on tables.

The more they neared the staircase, the more the sounds of the trickling water and the strumming guitar faded into nothingness. Hesitantly, Lydia laid her hand on the rail and took Stiles by the hand. They shared a worried glance and as Lydia averted her eyes to look forward, Stiles tugged at her hand, making her look at him again.

"Are you sure about that?"

She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. When she opened them, she felt a soothing peace and glimpsed Sven through some kind of smoked screen separating her from the coffee shop room. He smiled at her reassuringly and nodded.

"Yeah," she looked at Stiles, smiling and squeezing his hand. "Yeah, I'm sure."

It seemed to be enough for Stiles. "Let's go, then."

Once they reached the top of the staircase, they almost had to pinch themselves to be sure they were awake. It was the replica of the room they had just left: the fountain was there, the trees and the acoustic guitar too. The only difference being that they were in a library, not a coffee shop.

And there was Sven. He greeted them with the exact same smile and reached them.

"What is this place?" asked Lydia, still baffled and looking around with wide eyes.

"Welcome to the actual Nemeton." Sven's voice was still deep and low, contrasting with the coldness in his eyes.

Stiles shivered at the mention of the tree. "Is there really a Nemeton here?"

"Two hundred years ago, yes. But not anymore. It was completely destroyed by the druids after years of wars between wolves and hunters. It drew too much violence and it had started to affect the entire area. This," he pointed at the walls around them, "marks its former spot. I let you picture its size…"

Stiles opened round eyes. It had nothing to do with the stump in the Beacon Hills Preserve. Giving all the evil it drew, he didn't even want to know what kind of creature and violence it had drawn here.

"How do you do that with the… Coffee shop and here?" asked Stiles, still a little dazed by the turn of events. "Are you a druid?"

Sven laughed through his nose. "It doesn't matter what I am," he answered, staring at Lydia. "What matters is what you can do with your imagination and your willpower."

The room wasn't full of people, but Stiles spotted at least ten people reading books. "Is it some kind of centre of information for supernatural beings? How come I never heard of it?"

This time, Sven actually laughed, making Stiles and Lydia smile with his radiating warmth. "I guess you could call it that… It exists since the Nemeton has been destroyed. Its power still resides in the ground… lessened of course, but it's still here, drawing people. Druids at the time thought it would be a good place to help the creatures in need of assistance. For that reason, it became some kind of legend, a secret asylum. Unfortunately, as you can see," he gestured around him, "the only thing remaining is this library, it's much easier to hide from the outside world than an entire shelter." The librarian was cut off by someone approaching him with a question. He smiled at Stiles and Lydia. "I'll let you look for whatever it is that you need. You'll find an English description next to the Romanian one on the side of every bookshelf. If you have questions, I'll be over there." He pointed at a counter at the same place the other one was.

He slightly bowed his head and left them alone.

Stiles and Lydia turned their stares toward the shelves organized in sections around the fountain and glanced at each other.

"Let's go, I guess…" Stiles's voice was hesitant but Lydia seemed to be brimming with excitement, her entire body almost shaking. She nodded, already making mental notes about the sections she wanted to explore.

Stiles scoffed at her endearing behaviour. "You're such a nerd," he whispered in her ear, leaning to circle her shoulders with his arm and bumping his hips against hers.

"And I'm supposed to think that's an issue for you?"

She fluttered her eyelashes at him and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. Shaking his head with an amused smile, Stiles let her take his hand to lead him toward the first shelf.

* * *

They had decided to stay together. The risk they would find something they weren't prepared to face alone wasn't worth saving time.

Even though they had opted to start with the few books that were in English, it still took them two hours to dig through all of them with no conclusive find. Lydia was leafing through a book about Moldovan supernatural history when Stiles found an entire bookshelf of thick folders tagged "Diverse questions and discoveries".

One, with an English title and bigger than the others, caught his eyes "The Alpha Bite and Its Aftermath". He took it and raised his head when he felt Lydia's gaze on him.

"Look," he said, gesturing her to follow him to a nearby free table between the fountain and a fig tree. Lydia put her book back on the shelf and followed him, smiling unconsciously at the sweet scent of the fig tree leaves.

"What's that?" she asked, frowning and taking a seat next to Stiles.

He opened the folder and Lydia laid her chin in her hand, leaning her elbow on the table. The folder seemed to contain hundreds of pages, all handwritten by different people. Sometimes, two or three people seemed to answer each other but it was mostly paragraphs written by people who had made some discoveries or were making hypotheses.

The folder was so old the cover had started to crumble, but people still seemed to use it and write in it: the last paragraph was dated from a week ago.

Lydia sighed after a few minutes spent randomly leafing through the folder. "There's not the slightest sign of organization outside the date… It's a mess, Stiles, this is not effective at all!"

"Mmh…" He lightly rubbed her thigh, absently reading an exchange between two people thinking that Alphas injected some sort of venom when they bit someone and that it could be extracted and used to cure some diseases.

"I'm gonna ask the librarian, I'll be right back."

Stiles skipped some pages and his heart stopped suddenly. Lydia heard him inhale sharply and went back to him. "Did you find something?"

"It's…" He swallowed and tried to calm his breathing. "It's Alan, Alan wrote that two months ago. I think it's about you."

Lydia sat down again, her eyes focused on the small paragraph neatly written.

 _Alan Deaton, May 16 th 2022_

 _As you probably all know, it sometimes happens that the bite of an Alpha doesn't turn nor kill the person who was bitten. From what I know, it creates a bond between that person and death that allows them to know when a death is about to happen (it's still unclear to me why some deaths go unnoticed, maybe there must be some kind of bond between the two of them). I'm certain now that it means they can draw energy from one world to use it in the other one._

 _It's the case of a teenage girl I know and it was the first time I saw it happening. Not long after the attack, she was used by the Alpha who bit her to help him resurrect, creating an even stronger bond between her and death. The girl could have died if she hadn't been able to break the connection with him, he was swallowing all her vital energy._

 _I immediately thought that some strong tether on Earth gave her enough energy to break that bond (will it kill the Alpha?). Of course, there has to be some balance somewhere. I think she has to have a tether as strong as this one in the world of the dead to live._

 _In my opinion, just like the living tether, the second one has to emanate from the girl. It seems impossible to me that the second tether would be linked to a spirit, it has to be steadier than that, it must be able to grow._

 _This made me think that it was probably the case for all of those bitten girls (maybe there are also boys, but I never met one or heard of one)._

 _Considering a tether (an emotional tether?) is always two-sided, I wonder if those girls can also have the same abilities in the world of the living as they have in the other one. Can they sense life as they sense death? If yes, how can they control it? If they feel the urge to scream when death occurs, what would happen if they can feel life?_

It stopped there and the rest of the page was blank.

As blank as Lydia's mind when she reached the last question mark. To distract herself, she focused on Stiles who was still staring at the page. She took his hand in hers and intertwined their fingers to make him look at her. It seemed to startle him.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, her eyes full of worry.

Stiles brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, inhaling deeply. "Not so much…"

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Lydia was tracing circles with her thumb on Stiles's hand, trying to soothe him, trying to dissipate the fog swallowing him whenever he thought about Deaton.

"No, let's… Let's focus on what he says first, okay?"

"As you wish... babe," she smiled and it made Stiles's lips turn upward, tracing a genuine smile on his beautiful face bathed in the soft light pouring from the roof.

Lydia let Stiles get up to ask the librarian if Deaton had written anything else or if he had asked any questions while she read the paragraph one more time. Everything echoed in her. She already knew half of it, he had told her almost everything when they had met at the hospital. But what he said about tethers and about sensing life was interesting. It made her feel lighter, as if it was allowing her to be tied to life, not just living among the dead forever. It changed everything. Could Allison be her second tether? She wasn't sure. Stiles didn't seem to believe it either and Alan did write it couldn't be a spirit.

"The only information he has is here". Lydia lifted her head at Stiles's voice. "When Deaton came two months ago, the librarian didn't find anything for him. He told him to write his questions and reflections down here in case someone could help him. What do you think about it?"

Lydia shrugged, leaning against Stiles as he sat back, wafting the scent of the fig tree in his movement. "I think you deserve a prize for best tether of the year and I'm not willing to share." Stiles scoffed, planting a kiss on her head and she sighed. "I don't know, Stiles… What's that second tether if it's not Allison? Do you think it did kill Peter?"

He stayed silent a few seconds, trying to connect the new information to their conversation from the day before. "Do you think your tether in the other world could be anchored on Allison's memory?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"Well…" Lydia lifted her head to watch his beautiful and smart brain solve the equation for her, "Deaton says that the power coming from the tether has to emanate from you. My idea is that the bond you had with Allison when she was alive was too strong to be obliterated by death. The strength she gave you when she was living became yours thanks to the memories you still have, that's why the second tether is so strong… What could run deeper than memories? Does that make sense?"

"It does actually…"

"What if…" he straightened up in his chair and leaned on his elbow on the table. "What if I gave you enough strength to break the bond with Peter… And then, as you had to stay tethered to the world, you used Allison's memory to avoid losing your balance. That way, it would make sense that you saw her at the hospital… Because you used that second tether to get to him."

"But it wasn't her who killed him…"

"No, you pictured Allison because that tether is maybe new to you so, it was maybe easier for you to picture someone going where you couldn't. But it was you. The good, the bad, it all comes from you. It always has. The only big difference now, is that you can do whatever you want with your ability. There's no one to swallow your energy anymore."

Lydia slowly nodded and frowned. "And it would explain what happened in Prague?"

"Well…" he sighed, "I have honestly no idea… But the way I see it, you have the power to communicate between the two worlds, to draw strengths from one and use it in the other one so… Why not imagining you can also somehow communicate with any living being? Maybe that's what Alan means when he asks himself if you can sense life…"

"So, I would be able to communicate to you what I feel and sense what you feel?" She let Stiles's words get through her, savouring what they meant. "You'd actually be my anchor in that world… The two of you would give me enough strength to completely free myself…" A smile stretched on her lips, making Stiles smile as well. Lydia lowered her voice, "You're really smart, you know that?"

An adorable blush coloured Stiles's cheeks and she slowly kissed his already parted lips.

"You know," she continued, affectionately rubbing his wrist. "I like the idea of having someone trying to figure out what had been wrong with me since the start," she said, glancing at Deaton's note. "It makes me feel like I belong to some kind of... family." Her voice broke on the last word and she looked down.

"Nothing's wrong with you, Lyds," Stiles replied softly, his lips moving against the top of her head.

"Yes, something is," she lifted her head to look at him. "But it's alright, that's not my point... My point is that if he's willing to include _me_ – a girl he barely knows – in the list of his worries, there's no way he's not willing to forgive you. I'm even starting to believe he never felt like there was something to forgive."

"Why?"

"Don't you see it?" she smiled warmly, "When I met him, he was with a girl who was bitten just like me. According to what he says, he met several girls like that, but everyone seems to say that it _rarely_ happens. I was the first one… Why do you think he's trying so hard to solve that problem?" Stiles wasn't answering, but the look in his eyes told her he understood what she meant. "He cares about me, about what's happening to me because he cares about _you_. This," she pointed at the folder and stared at Stiles again, "isn't about me, or about any other bitten girl he found. This is about trying to help you." He averted his eyes to hide their wetness, but Lydia took his chin between her fingers to force him to look at her. "You still have a family, Stiles, people who care about you. You have the proof right here."

After a few seconds of silence, Lydia feared she had gone too far too soon and she nibbled at her lips. She was about to add something when Stiles moved to take the back of her head in his big and warm hand, bringing her closer to him in a tight hug. "Thank you," his voice was barely a whisper, but Lydia heard it and circled her arms even closer around him. She felt him relax under the soft circles she was drawings against his sides, exhaling steadier each time, his warm breath against her neck.

"You don't believe me yet though, do you?"

He laughed faintly before answering. "No, but I know I will someday and it's enough for now."

"Good," she leaned back to take his face between her hands and wiped away the few tears on his cheeks with her thumbs. "Because I'm always right." His smile was thin, but the amber in his eyes sparkled with gratitude and faith. "I'm gonna copy that down and we'll head back, alright?"

Stiles nodded and kissed her forehead. As he watched her writing, he tried to let her words sink into him, but the idea of Deaton still thinking about him as family still felt too foreign to him. Maybe one day it wouldn't anymore.

* * *

A problem at the train station had forced them to stay in Chisinau for the night. They had found a cheap hotel and were currently at the hotel bar, sipping a beer for Stiles and a glass of white wine for Lydia at a corner booth table. They hadn't talked about Deaton's note since they had left the coffee shop, but it was at the back of both of their minds.

The idea that she could maybe sense life - whatever that meant - and communicate with other human beings was slowly turning into a plan in Lydia's mind. Stiles's voice forced her to bring her attention back to him before she could put words on it.

"I'd like to test a theory, if you will…" His mischievous stare made her arch her left eyebrow. "My theory," he continued, moving closer to her and making the booth's leather squeal against his pants. He took her hands in his hands and lowered his voice, losing his mischievous tone. "My theory is that you couldn't have gotten rid of Peter if you hadn't let me help you in the first place. And if I gave you enough energy to break that link, it's because…" He nervously chuckled and looked away, "because for some reason, I make you happy and how I make you feel was stronger than how he made you feel." His cheeks were burning hot but he stared right back into the green of her eyes. "But there's more than that I think. I don't know what you are exactly but I think that if you keep going along that road, if you keep feeding on happiness, I think you could make an impact on people, on the world. If you were able to kill someone, I think there's a lot of things you could do with that gorgeous mind of yours…"

She was gawking at him, as if he was revealing the secrets of the universe. Her voice was panting.

"Like what?"

"I don't know… I know we agreed on only staying together for this trip, but I'd like to keep making you happy for as long as you'll let me to see how far you can go," he answered in a low and husky tone.

Lydia couldn't help smiling and leaned forward, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. When she pushed away, Stiles took a moment to admire her. Her red cheekbones, her parted lips that were letting out shallow breaths, her breasts swelling irregularly, and her green eyes that illuminated the entire room. She was so beautiful he had troubles breathing and thinking straight.

A silly smile appeared on his lips. "Does that mean you'll let me?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course, what do you think?" When she realized her cheeks were burning hot from the intensity of Stiles's stare on her, she nibbled at her lips to draw his attention away from them. "And how do you wanna test that theory?"

"I have two ideas," he answered with a half-smile and a low voice, staring at her red lips. "First idea, they're apparently having a karaoke here tonight…" Lydia followed his gaze and saw the placard the bartender was starting to stick up everywhere. She laughed, shaking her head.

"Absolutely not!"

"Alright, alright, as you wish…"

Lydia got suddenly riveted by his smirk and the provocative glow of his amber eyes. She had fallen right into his trap. It was amazing how Stiles could go from self-conscious to confident in a second. "And what's your second idea?" she asked both suspiciously and playfully.

As he leaned forward to stroke her knuckles with his fingertips, Stiles let out a small laugh and lowered his voice while looking straight into her eyes. "You call me _detective_ again like yesterday and in about ten minutes, I'll discreetly meet you in the bathroom."

"Stiles," she put a finger on the table and took it off but the surface was so sticky, they heard a faint _pop_." Giving how _clean_ the tables are, I don't even want to imagine the bathroom…" A predatory smile appeared on her lips and she brushed the tip of her shoe against Stiles's ankle next to her feet. "But, nobody said I wouldn't have to host a detective on the run in the only bed we have tonight…"

Stiles gulped slowly and absently licked his lips, mesmerized by her smile. "I really like that idea…" He cleared his throat to collect his thoughts, "but you _do_ know you don't test a theory with experiments which results are already predictable, right?"

When he winked at her and leaned back, she snorted and took a cautious sip from her glass. "Stiles Stilinski, are you calling me _predictable_?" The wine was too sweet and Lydia frowned with disgust, not paying attention to Stiles's sneer.

"No! All I'm saying," he continued in a more coaxing tone, "is that we could predict the positive result of that kind of experiment with a minimum margin of error because we already learned a lot from similar experiences in the past. So, in all logic and in the sake of future research, we could add some variables like… I don't know… A karaoke a few hours before… You know, just to change the paradigm a little, be sure we can offer a new algorithm… In the matrix… Sine, cosine, that kind of stuff." Lydia was staring at him with an amused look but wasn't reacting. "You know, if you don't stop me, I can go on and on forever like that…"

"Oh, I know. I just enjoy watching you turning yourself on with mathematical gibberish."

"Gibberish?" Stiles's outraged look made Lydia laugh through her nose. "That's not gibberish! I know those words are real and I'm pretty sure you used them all in your thesis. Maybe not in that order or in those sentences but still…"

He knew he was about to win her over when she nibbled at her thumb to hide her growing smile, her foot still dangling along his calf.

After a few seconds of silence during which Stiles was grinning broadly at a blushing Lydia, she took her thumb out of her mouth and cleared her voice. "Alright, but I have one condition!" She pointed a finger at Stiles, "I have a veto over the song."

He nodded, still smiling widely, "your wish is my command, milady."

As they quietly sip into their drinks, a boundless peace was slowly spreading inside of Stiles and there wasn't anything that could make him look away from the new perspectives that were emerging in front of him, in front of _them_. He was approaching them like one would approach a fawn, barely daring to look at them more than a few seconds for fear they would suddenly vanish.

Confiding in Lydia about what Peter's death meant to him the day before had made him realize things he had never been aware of, things he had maybe never wanted to admit to himself.

When he was a teenager, he didn't know what the future could hold. Like all the others, he pictured a house, a family, a job and maybe a dog or a cat. But that was it. Grown-ups used to say not knowing what he would become was normal, they used to say it would all become clear with the passing of time. So, he waited. But it never became clearer, he even started to despise that first vision. After his teenage years, his future had a name: Peter Hale. Nothing else existed except him, that werewolf and the weapon he would use to kill him. He wouldn't die until his task would be fulfilled and by some kind of vicious irony, that monster had become the instrument of his salvation. In those conditions, thinking about any form of future was nothing more than a cruel joke his twisted mind would turn into hope to fuel his life instinct.

It had been different with Lydia, of course. It was always different with Lydia. Even in class, mathematics was always more interesting when she was answering the questions, English was mesmerizing when she was the one presenting something to the class. Now, she was the reason why he woke up in the morning, the reason why he lived, why he fought. Nothing else mattered except living one day at a time to see how many colours her smile could bring into his life.

Peter's death hadn't freed him: he had freed himself a while ago without knowing when. Or, maybe it wasn't a moment, maybe it was more like a process. Maybe it had begun when he had found Lydia, maybe it had begun in Poland or maybe when he had left California.

He should have known life would find a way to go beyond his imagination and dreams, because he would have never dared imagining one day being in a crappy hotel, lost somewhere in Moldova with Lydia… Lydia who was looking at him like he was the best thing walking on the Earth.

He was losing himself in that new gleam reflecting in her eyes. It was so deep he thought he might be able to see something similar to a future in it. It was more an impression than something precise. A little like the idea of a future he had when he was a teenager. Except there was no house, no family and no job in that vision. There was only Lydia, him and the world. Some place that felt like them, their cosy and quiet little corner in the world.

And love, a lot of love.

His own words came back to him "when we go back"… Go back _home_? No, even if he wanted to, he couldn't. That home wasn't there anymore. But what if they build their own home? It didn't matter whether the walls would be made out of stones, bricks, straw, wood or as thin as the breeze… As long as Lydia, _his_ Lydia was happy and let him take care of her.

His salvation had never been Peter, it was her, it had always been her.

And maybe they could redefine together that word _family_ that still felt foreign to him. Maybe she was the key.

A glance in her direction told him she was also deeply buried in her thoughts. She had that half-smile that tied his stomach in knots in the most delicious way and made his heart start a race against his breath. Before he could ask her what she was pondering, she looked his way and burst out a small laugh.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, affectionately scoffing.

Stiles smiled and laughed through his nose, "You, us, tomorrow…"

Seeing him looking so beautiful and in love had made her smile but she hadn't expected such a genuine answer. Lydia felt her heart leap high in her ribcage until it reached her lips and she immediately regretted her mocking words. He trusted her with everything he had, offering her his heart he constantly wore on his sleeve and not even considering the idea that she might crush it. She would never, of course, but that faith in her always caught her by surprise. Every time it happened, she felt her heart beat harder, trying to get her attention, telling her that something important was happening. Her heart never failed to make her realize what a wonder Stiles was, how incredible it was that he still made her feel like she had just fallen in love with him. And every time, she could only agree with her heart. _Tell him, then_ her heart would whisper and she would shyly answer _I will, later, I promise_ …

She barely noticed that Stiles had taken her hands in his to kiss her middle fingers. The wet pressure of his lips lingered a little on her skin afterwards, making her completely lose track of time as she fell in love with him all over again. When he lifted his head, she realized she was unable to tear her eyes off of his parted lips and his eyes full of love. She wasn't sure it would be possible for her to get enough of his full lips that would turn vivid red with the slightest nibble. Those lips that clung so perfectly to the shape of her breasts, making them swell with a yearning Stiles only could appease.

She was used to that desire overwhelming her sometimes but it kept surprising her with its intensity and its consistency.

It was inconceivable to picture a day when she wouldn't be fascinated by the grace of his hands and fingers, the perfection of his cheekbones' structure, his upturned nose or how flawless his hair was even when it was disheveled in the morning or during windy days. Maybe it was her love-drunk heart talking, but to Lydia, Stiles was a work of art.

It was the only explanation for that aura emanating from him despite the neon lamps and the greyish sky light. It was the same halo the marble sculptures she once saw at the Louvre radiated, something mesmerizing, full of mystery, majestic and somehow noble.

Lydia didn't remember much of her first trip to Paris. She must have been 13 years old and it was a gift from her dad, an umpteenth attempt to try to convince her that he was a good father. But he didn't fool her, he never did. Lydia had been seething with anger the entire first three days, stuck alone in the royal suite he had booked in a luxury hotel. She was apparently old enough to take care of herself while her father was at yet another meeting that lasted a few hours in the best case, but she was too young to visit the city without supervision.

She had managed to make him take her to the Louvre one day, implying shamelessly that if he let her in that hotel one more day, she would start flirting with the cute boy at the front desk. He had eventually agreed but had let her wander through the hallways by herself, telling her he had to make an important call. Saying she had an awful memory of that trip would be an understatement but there was one thing she would never forget: the department of marble sculptures and its several rooms bathed in sunlight. The silhouettes of those figures engraved in stone were imprinted in her retina.

She had stayed transfixed in front of the bodies of the Apollos set in the middle of the room higher than the other statues, their perfect muscle structures and their poses that left nothing to the imagination. Pensive, she had thought about Jackson who had kissed her in front of everyone at the end of the Lacrosse game just before she had to leave with her dad. After the break, he would take her to the cinema for their first date and she hoped she would lose her virginity before she would turn 14. Sure, he didn't have Apollo's muscle structure yet, but it was only a matter of years, she knew that. A little more effort and by the end of high school, they would be prom queen and prom king.

With a satisfied grin, she had turned around to continue her tour when a ray of sunlight had fallen on a curvaceous marble silhouette, lying on the ground. The light was barely brushing the woman's round body and casted shadows that accentuated the perfect and delicate structure of her face. With the dust particles dancing in the light in the space separating the statue from the window, a star dust halo seemed to surround it, making the marble look almost sheer. She still remembered being unable to think about anything else than how beautiful that vision was, how silent the entire room was. The occasional creaking of the wooden floor being the only sound she could perceive.

It had almost been a religious experience. Looking at that statue hadn't been like looking at the Apollo statues. Whereas the sight of the god had filled her with some kind of satisfaction, that one had seemed to speak directly to her soul, making her chest tighten and heave faster. She remembered wanting to come closer, shyly extending her fingers to feel what she imagined would be warmth. It had to be warm, such beauty couldn't be cold. It had nothing to do with the sharp and academic Apollo's beauty, it wasn't based on anything. It was more a sensation. Like a mirage, an oasis for her soul in a desert of consensual bodies. Lydia had eventually averted her eyes, that beauty was too chaotic, too unpredictable. Apollos were more reassuring, she could control her heart race when she looked at them.

Her entire life, her eyes had preferred to stare at those Apollos… Until Stiles.

Stiles didn't need any case or pedestal, his beauty was raw and Lydia couldn't stop herself from wanting to touch him, feel the reality of this mirage under her fingertips.

She would admire him from the corner of her eyes more times than she would like to admit. When he would walk out of the shower for example, with nothing more than a towel hanging low on his hips. If he didn't have the chiseled muscles of an Apollo, he certainly had the presence, the charisma and the soul.

He had muscles, but they were different. They weren't the kind he could have gained at the gym, lifting weights twice a week in a standardized room at the rhythm of the same pop song remixed again and again. He wasn't like those modern Apollos who measured themselves against each other with quick glances in the mirrors. She knew those men. In their arms, Lydia always felt like she was where everyone expected her to be. It felt like she had found her place in the society. A simple place which only cost the price of a make-up palette and the ability to withdraw herself to let the god shine. Exactly like those small animals at the statues' feet that seemed to be there only to emphasize the contrast between their fragility and Apollo's strength.

Stiles was different. Of course. Stiles was _always_ different. He had the muscles of the man who fought his entire life to defend himself and protect the ones he loved against creatures that could have killed him with a pinch. He had the muscles of the survivor, of the protector. Discreet muscles that he never showed off but that would be here, no matter what happened. He was thin but by no means weak or lanky. Whenever she would cling to him, she could feel his strong muscles in his arms and thighs, promising her to always catch her. In his arms, Lydia felt safe, sheltered from anything. Loved.

He had the same unpredictable beauty that reclining statue in the Louvre had. She could remember how everyone, including her, had been ignoring it, mesmerized by the Apollos until the sun had ordered everyone to turn their gaze toward it. Then, it was impossible to notice anything else but the celestial beauty in front of them.

Stiles was part of the people you couldn't forget. How could she ever forget his smirk, the warmth of his body when he was both too close and not enough, that tongue he had the habit to pop out at the most inappropriate time? How could she forget what it felt like to be at the other end of his stare? What it felt like to be loved by him? His love was the most precious thing about him. It was precious because it was rare, pure and raw. Sometimes, Lydia lost herself in the thought that it was maybe Stiles's true nature. Maybe he was that creature sent from heaven, the love child of Cupid and Psyche, of the divine and the soul. His face was probably the face of love itself and sometimes, Lydia wondered why he had chosen her.

She knew he would answer he hadn't chosen her, that his love for her was just a part of him and that without it, he would be completely different. Or he wouldn't _be_ at all. He had told her that once. Lydia had trusted him, she always trusted him. He was maybe the only man in her life she had always trusted, no questions asked. But it still felt incredible and unreal sometimes.

The butterflies flew up her stomach to reach her chest and she heaved a long sigh.

How could she mock him when he was making her feel like she mattered? Like she was the most precious thing on Earth and not noticing that _he_ actually was? Sure, she loved their banter, she loved his witty mind and his sarcasm. But there were moments like this one when she wished she could be honest with herself and be able to just gush over him and over his beauty and brain out loud, like he did.

"I'm sorry, I'm just…" His voice broke her from her reveries and the pained look on his face made her realize she hadn't answered anything. "I'm just overwhelmed by everything I guess…"

Her voice was nowhere to be found so, she inhaled slowly and came closer to him. He held his breath when she cupped his cheek, brushing his jaw with the tip of her thumb and she let her gaze wander in the depths of his eyes whose colour seemed to change with the light. As if they stored some of the sunlight to give it back to the world during long days of rain.

She felt his delicate cheek muscles and jaw twitch under her fingers. She gently kissed them and felt the air being released from his lungs. His skin was so soft and warm she thought she would never be able to stop touching him. Then, she kissed her way up his cheekbones and nose, worshipping every inch of perfect skin her lips found.

"Don't," she finally managed to articulate in a whisper. "Don't ever apologize for being you." She almost gave in to her panting heart and added _And I love you_ but she heard the squeal of the leather when he turned slightly to face her and laid his hand on her waist, melting her courage with its pleasant warmth. So, she closed her eyes, letting her lips lazily cover his face with kisses instead.

"And you?" he asked in a slow and sleepy voice.

"Mmh?"

"What were you thinking about?" There was a laugh in his voice, it made her smile.

"You… Your perfection," she added with a beating heart while her lips barely brushed his mouth. "In every sense of the word."

She was so close to him, she felt his lips stretch into a smile. The sensation of his tongue poking out to wet his lips spread tingles and warmth all over her body.

"What else?" his voice was still a husky murmur, making it more difficult to speak without moaning out of frustration.

"Well," she chewed at her bottom lip to distract herself from his warm breath tickling the skin above her mouth. "I also have a theory."

"What is it?"

"It's a surprise…"

"You won't tell me?"

She shook her head, nibbling at both of her lips now. "No, you'll have to wait."

He let out a breathy warm laugh and the yearning to faintly tilt her head to catch his bottom lip in her mouth became all of a sudden impossible to withstand. She ran her hands through his hair, pulling slightly at the roots to have him closer, making his grip on her hips tightening and getting a little lower. She nibbled at his lips, alternating with light touches from the tip of her tongue before eventually giving in and opening her mouth to kiss him deeper. Stiles was deliciously receptive, encouraging her to keep teasing him when he would let her tongue fill his mouth with a growl or gently bite her lips when she was trying to catch her breath.

As Lydia leaned back to look at what she had made, she thought her heart would explode. He looked so ravished it was breathtaking, _he_ was breathtaking. His hair was still completely disheveled, as if her hands were still pulling at the roots, his parted lips were letting out a shallow breath and were an almost indecent shade of red. As for his eyes… They were the perfect mix between endless tenderness and raw lust.

He leaned again, slowly kissing her cheek and following the outline of her jaw until he found the corner of her lips.

"Are you sure you don't wanna tell me?"

She almost surrendered to him for the sake of his hoarse tone and wondering again if she hadn't made him up, out of desperation when she couldn't find anything else than standardized Apollos. With her hand on his forearm, she felt his hairs rise as she grazed her lips upon the outline of his left cheek to plant a kiss there.

But she couldn't tell him anything. All the theories about her possible abilities had given her an idea. For a long time, she had been looking for a way to help Stiles just like he helped her. Something more effective than just being there for him. Now that she wasn't afraid of her own mind anymore, she wanted to free his mind from his own demons.

And she might have found a way.

But she didn't want him to clutch at straws. She would offer him solid ground, nothing else.

She nodded, faintly brushing her lips against his own. "I want to, but I can't, it wouldn't be fair if… If it doesn't work." She smiled, "You're just gonna have to be my happiness provider and if my theory works, you'll know it soon enough."

"My pleasure…"

He kissed her with an open mouth, taking her breath away.

Lydia had started to lean back to add something but Stiles followed her and kept covering her mouth with small pecks.

A laughter burst out of Lydia's mouth, "You know, there's still time to ditch karaoke and just go back to the room…"

Stiles had leaned his forehead against hers and let out a laughing breath, "As tempting as it sounds, I absolutely don't want to miss the opportunity to hear you call me _honey_ when you sing to me that I'm the one that you want…"

Lydia couldn't contain her laugh and moved to cover her mouth to muffle it but Stiles took her wrist in her hand, kissing it, "Don't hide your laugh..." She silenced him with a quick peck on the lips, still smiling. "I'm serious, you look beautiful when you laugh."

She felt her cheeks quickly heat up and chewed her bottom lip. If this was the beginning of a life without Peter, she was absolutely on board.

"It's gonna take more than your beautiful face and sweet talk to make me agree on _Grease_ , you know…"

"We'll see about that…"

Then, he winked at her and stood up.

She frowned, watching him quizzically leave as he headed to the bar. Suddenly, without his body to protect her from the strangers' gaze, she felt naked and self-conscious. Displaying her affection for anyone so publicly was making her uncomfortable. She should have known it wouldn't be so easy to get rid of all of her fears. But she would. For the first time, she managed to put that fear at the back of her mind, still feeling it deep in her bones but knowing that it would go away. One day.

Stiles was speaking to the bartender in what Lydia suspected was a mix of English, very personal body language and air-drawings. He must have felt her gaze on him because he turned around and smiled at her. Even if she hadn't wanted to, her lips drew a thin smile and she sighed long and deep as she felt a thousand of butterflies whirling in her stomach and chest. He pointed at her, making the bartender wave at her with an amused smile. She laughed through her nose and waved back, feeling her fears already being replaced by genuine happiness.

When he came back to her with laminated sheets in his hands, comforting warmth spread through her body, telling her everything would be alright. He laid the sheet with the available songs in English in front of her, clapping it against the table with a smile she could only describe as _Stiles_.

"Pick five."

She arched an eyebrow, "Five? I said yes to one song, Stiles," she lifted her index to emphasize her words, "one!"

He sat down, a smirk plastered on his lips. "Five and I add suspenders to my detective-on-the-run suit we talked about yesterday…", he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

Lydia snorted, "You really think I'm gonna fall for _suspenders_?"

She had tried to sound as detached as possible while reading the songs list but she couldn't help her voice faltering at the mental image he was offering her. Stiles, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, running a hand through his hair while the other one loosened his tie, all the while wearing suspenders that held those tight pants hugging his perfect anatomy so well.

Lydia pretended to scratch her neck to hide her sudden blush. When Stiles didn't reply, she knew he had seen right through it. She lifted her head as she felt the warmth of his hand stopping her from drumming her fingers on the table.

"Please?" He smiled at her like he was the picture of innocence, but Lydia swallowed with difficulty, completely dazed by the intensity in his eyes and the way he rubbed her hand. Confident and forward Stiles was a rare sight and it always had that same effect on her. She knew he wouldn't act that way if he wasn't absolutely sure she was reciprocating his feelings. It felt a little like he could hear her heart screaming its love for him and it felt incredible.

But then, like always, his face turned pink and he stopped. He averted his eyes from her, looking down and Lydia knew he was about to say something, probably a joke or an apology. So, she gently caressed his wrist and palm with her fingertips. It caught his attention and she smiled at him, trying to convey all the adoration she felt for him in her gaze. "Maybe I'll pick six, then."

It made him smile almost shyly, intertwining their fingers over the laminated sheet. He looked at her and she lost track of time.

A few hours later, she realized she must have stayed locked too long in his stare.

When he had taken the microphone by himself an hour after the karaoke had begun and had only looked at her while singing _She's like the wind_ , she knew she would do literally anything to keep him close, to make him happy for the rest of his life.

 _Living without her, I'd go insane_ , he sang with such love in his eyes, she mouthed _Me too_ before blowing him a kiss from her fingertips. Self-consciousness be damned… If everyone applauded when she stood up to hug him tightly, giving him an actual kiss as he walked back to their table, she pretended nothing was happening.

But then, all her courage and determination she had tried to muster suddenly abandoned her when Stiles stood up from their booth, extending his hand and gesturing her to follow him to the improvised stage. She felt the same heaviness in the pit of her stomach she used to feel when she had just arrived in England and had to find her place in her new high school. When someone handed her the microphone, she was sure her knees were shaking too much for her to stand. Panic was overwhelming her. She tried to conceal it, to not wipe her sweaty hands on her pants, to slow her breathing… But she couldn't.

And just when she thought she was going to run and hide, she felt Stiles's hand on her lower back, sharing his soothing warmth. It automatically dispelled all the accumulated tension in her body and mind. For a moment, she felt good enough to stop paying attention to the people scanning them and dive into the reassuring depth of Stiles's gaze. "Focus on me, it will be alright," he whispered in her ear, shielding her from the public with his body, his hand still on her lower back.

The music started and she swore her heart stopped beating. She quickly took his hand in hers, wondering how she would be able to let any word out of her tightened throat.

But then, Stiles's voice rang to her ears, not particularly in tune but it was _his_ and it was enough to be beautiful. He looked straight at her, holding her hand firmly and the lyrics pierced through her heart. Nothing else existed, nobody else then the two of them. Nobody else than that god in front of her whose magic and strength went beyond everything that had ever existed.

And hearing him sing things like _Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears_ made her want to cry. So, without giving it more thought, she jumped in and sang with everything she had in her that she needed him tonight, that she needed him more than ever and that they'd never be wrong together.

She watched as his lips curled up into a smile illuminating the entire room and she couldn't care less if she was singing out of tune or wincing. All that mattered was that it would be the last time she heard him deliver such sad lyrics with that glint in his eyes that looked too realistic, too real. As if it had awoken some ancient scars and demons.

After that, nothing was easier then standing next to him to declare her love to him on the cheesiest song from the 60's to the 80's. Nothing was better than the sight of his goofy smile when she kept repeating _I've got you babe_ over and over again over a music that would soon give them headache because of the old amplifiers. Or when she promised _I won't go breaking your heart_ , sang about her keys she gave him, light in her life and putting spark to the flame… She was having fun, _Lydia_ was actually having fun, singing in a karaoke in the middle of nowhere.

Of course, she had to look a little annoyed when he managed to drag her on stage to hear her say to him she was _sure down deep inside_ that he was the one she wanted. But what could she say when she was confronted with his irresistible face? Nothing… There was nothing she could do when he was looking at her with that half-smile pout. She even let him convince her to dance on _Time of my life_ while another couple was singing.

At the end of each song, even the applauses from the public weren't enough to make her look away from the perfection that was holding her hand. Motionless, Stiles would always stare back at her and in those moments, the awareness that she had finally come to terms with her former life would hit her harder than ever.

There was no coming back from that feeling of freedom. Her fears would probably awake from time to time but she had faith in her, in _him_. For the first time in her life, she was realizing that she was looking straight ahead, without being anxious if it was a little blurry. Or if the future was still uncertain and completely unknown.

No, she wasn't afraid. Not with Stiles tethering her to the Earth and Allison, somewhere, making sure she wouldn't lose her way in the darkness. She felt free, free to do whatever she would want, knowing that the two most important people in her life would always be there to help her navigate through any turbulent waters.

They went back to their room a little later and spent the rest of the night feeding on happiness. The intensity of their connection had never felt so strong to Lydia. It didn't matter what their tomorrows would bring them, as long as Stiles, _her_ Stiles would be happy and would let her take care of him.

They would have to talk about Peter again and her abilities would have to be cleared up at one point… But not tonight.

That night, they celebrated the discovery of a new world. A world where the gods of revenge had assisted two humans and made them the precious gift of a future without fears, without monsters. A world where Apollo had traded his muscles for a smirk and moles on his cheek.

Lydia didn't know what they would find in this new world. But her certainties were making every doubt worth it. Because there would be Stiles with her and some place that felt like them, their cosy and quiet little corner in the world… A family of their own and love.

Lots and lots of love.

The rest didn't matter.


	16. Facing the world

**A/N: That fic should have 20 chapters, so we are nearing the end, but you'll have to wait a little from here, because I'm still working on the ending. Until then, don't hesitate to leave comments, they are always appreciated!**

Could we fit it all above four wheels  
and under one roof? Could we  
trade walls for sky,  
floorboards for road lines,  
and vanish into it all?  
Open the windows  
to the sea, to the mountains  
stabbing the sky,  
open the doors to new  
dirt under roaming feet?  
Take what we need,  
only  
and leave all the rest.

\- Tyler Knott Gregson -

 **August 2022 – Somewhere around the Black Sea**

The days after they had found Peter's corpse had been hard. They barely went out of their apartment, spending their days and nights clinging to each other as if it was the last thing making sense, the only thing making them feel sane. They talked about it, about what it meant for both of them, they said the same things over and over again until the words sunk in. They were free. It was over.

Over.

When they had decided to run away from their fate, they had both secretly hoped that focusing on something else would have been enough to start a new life, to erase any memory of red-eyed monsters and nagging grief.

And it had actually worked.

That was why it took them by surprise when they realized how much they had needed to see Peter's corpse, to witness with their own eyes that he hadn't sank into oblivion only in their minds. Lydia had done some quick calculation and had figured he must have died around the time they were working at the farm. It would make sense considering she hadn't been bothered by her scar since then.

They had felt free ever since, it had been the happiest months of their lives. How could Lydia have guessed it could still get better?

After Moldova, they had felt the urge to escape a little more from the world, to plunge deeper in eastern distant lands and let their skin burn, melt under the August sun. They wandered around the Black Sea, without knowing which countries they were crossing. Ukraine, Romania, Bulgaria… Had they driven until Turkey, Georgia or even Russia before they decided to turn back? Maybe, maybe not.

They had found an old Volkswagen van they had exchanged against a few hours of work in a garage and travelled kilometres and kilometres along the shores, sleeping on the improvised bed in the back or in the open whenever the night was warm enough. Lydia had never liked camping but there was something about feeling a nice breeze against her cheek after an entire day spent in the confines of the metal van while relaxing in Stiles's arms… She couldn't get enough of it and the sun always rose too soon. They did their best to stay on the less travelled roads, avoiding at any cost the big cities and any form of urban civilization, preferring to hear their stomachs growl until they found a farm or market gardeners to buy or trade something to eat rather than having to deal with the world.

Thinking about all the borders they were maybe illegally crossing that way was making Lydia nervous from time to time, but after an entire week spent without being bothered, the thought turned into a small dark cloud she could easily dismiss with a wave of her hand.

There was something purifying about the deep and dark sea, the merciless sun and the hard sand under the softness of their soles. The constant hunger and thirst, the sweat they could never completely wipe away and that would constantly make their clothes cling to their skins. It felt like a reborn. As if exhausting their bodies and letting go of almost every sanitary habit they used to have was allowing their soul to take control of everything to help them heal. Lydia thought she wouldn't be able to spend more than a few days like that but somehow, it felt good, amazing even and she caught herself wishing it would never end. Wishing they would build a home in a small village on the sea and live there for the rest of eternity.

Every evening, they would step out of the van and turn their gazes west to contemplate the horizon swallowing the sun in a burst of dazzling colours. They would plunge their entire bare bodies into the sea, offering themselves in sacrifice to the Earth to be born again in the darkness, wrapped in loving and solid arms. Every time, Lydia would ask herself if this wasn't the actual beginning of her life. As if she had wandered in some kind of limbo until then and was just now given the right to live. Stiles's breath was giving her life, his blood was making her warm and his strokes were shaping her.

They would let their feverish bodies get carried away by a passion that tasted like salt and simplicity under the protecting gaze of the Moon. In between caresses, Lydia would take on Stiles's lips all the _I love you's_ he kept laying there day after day and gave them back to him when she would draw from her fingertips the most secret and evanescent impulses of her soul on his skin. Every night, they repeated that same ritual, feeling that it purged their bodies from the last residues of darkness that had abided in them for so long.

For the first time in her life, Lydia discovered that the night wasn't only filled with nightmares. The night was boundless, it wasn't scary if you knew what you were looking for. It was the only place where the light would disappear to let them make their choices in all intimacy. It held out freedom.

She discovered that freedom tasted like salt, the taste of Stiles's lips at any time of the day. Whether she kissed him in their sea foam sheets, sheltered by rocks or on the road under the open sky, his lips always kept the memory of those moments spent in some timeless space.

The night had always been a stranger to Lydia, a place filled with her nightmares.

A place hiding a faceless monster always eager to swallow her whole.

But as she faced east with Stiles's solid body wrapped around hers, she realized she had the ability to defeat that monster.

And the night started to be filled with promises instead.

xxxxxxx

"Stop the van!" Lydia almost yelled, startling Stiles. She had felt a raindrop on her forearm dangling outside the window and was now looking with anticipation at the grey clouds above them. "It's starting to rain!"

Her gaze turned toward Stiles and they smiled broadly at each other while he parked the van along the road. "Finally…" he whispered, giving a quick squeeze to Lydia's thigh. She looked so happy it was endearing. They had driven in silence for the past hour, watching as the clouds kept accumulating above them and wishing for rain. Stiles had alternated with quick glances at Lydia who was fidgeting in her seat and muttering things about air mass and atmospheric pressure.

As soon as he killed the engine, Lydia stepped out and ran a few meters away toward the sea, raising her head and opening her mouth to soothe her dry throat. One raindrop landed on her bottom lip and the other one directly in her throat, leaving a thin trail of deliciously cold water behind them. She knew there would be a storm soon and she couldn't wait. The fabric of her light tank top was waving in the gusts of wind that would get stronger and stronger, cooling down the sweat on her skin and sending shivers all over her body.

Stiles was watching her from his seat, leaning his left elbow on the steering wheel. He was mesmerized by the sight in front of him. The sky was almost black above the horizon, the sea was more and more agitated with waves and the extreme heat was slowly being swept away by a balmy wind. In the middle of the panic-stricken seagulls and the unleashed elements, Lydia stood still, enjoying the welcomed change of weather. Lydia. His only guiding star. The only steady figure in the storm.

It had been twelve days since the last time they had found soft water and had to use the drinking water they had stored to freshen up every day. Unluckily, it had been two entire weeks of heatwave. Stiles knew Lydia had been waiting for a rainy day since day three. The difficult conditions they had been dealing with for a few weeks were imprinted on their faces. It made her look older and Stiles was mesmerized by the vision of a more serene and confident Lydia. It was like being transported a few years into the future and the same anticipation overwhelmed him every time. He wanted to see her grow older, grow happier. One day at a time for the rest of eternity.

He must have stared at her a little too long because she had turned around and was shaking her head with an affectionate smile. When she gestured him to come out and join her outside, he stumbled out and almost fell flat on his face after missing the step.

The mix of violent wind and raindrops was one of the best sensation Stiles had ever experienced. When he reached Lydia, he was smiling as broadly as her and put his arm around her waist.

"Look," she told him while pointing her finger at a family who had stopped a few meters away from them. They were taking out water cans to collect rainwater that would very soon start to pour down. "We should do the same, at least to stop using our drinking water for everything."

"Yep, I'm on it…" He kissed her lightly on her temple, gave her hip a light squeeze and went back to the van.

A small affectionate laugh escaped under Lydia's breath as she watched him trying to find the less windy spots to place the empty cans. Those last few days, Stiles had been nothing but attentive to the slightest change in her mood. She had tried to apologize as much as she could but the truth was, this lack of actual daily shower, the constant sweaty skin and greasy hair had been really hard to deal with for her. Every day, Stiles had used his own drinking water ration to wet some cloths he tied around her hair like a turban. He always added a few drops of rose fragrance. He had bought a perfume bottle to a florist along the road a few days ago while Lydia had been happily rediscovering her drawing skills in the shadow of a beautiful cedar.

The last time she had drawn something must have been in her first years of high school in California. It was so soothing she wondered what had made her stop. She had been so focused on what she was doing she hadn't heard Stiles coming closer behind her. When she had turned around, he had handed her the small bottle wrapped in a red leaf with an ear of wheat as ribbon. His smile had been uncertain, as if after all this time, he was still unsure about how she would react to his spontaneous side. It had broken her heart a little to think there was still something about her that intimidated him. But at the same time, she was sure that in another world, if he had invited her to prom, he would have made the same face as she would have opened the door and grabbed his arm. She surely would have kissed that version of Stiles before the end of the night, just like she had done after thanking him.

In the distance, a clap of thunder broke her out of her thoughts and she looked over the horizon.

Some locks had escaped from her turban and tickled the dimples around her smile. All the people they had met since the day before had kept repeating two words they had been eventually able to understand. _Rain_ and _soon_. The rest was unclear but one thing was sure. When that _soon_ would come, it would be a day for celebration. Anticipation was running faster and faster through her veins. She started bouncing from one foot to another when heavier raindrops splashed on her shoulders, sending delightful shivers down her body.

"You should take that off," said Stiles near her ear as he removed the cloth from her hair, letting it fall against her back. She winced at the sensation of the greasy film it was leaving against her shoulder blades but didn't have time to linger on that feeling too long because all the sudden, the sky broke apart and a torrential rain poured down on them. A laugh burst out of Lydia's lips and she turned toward Stiles to take him by the hands and lead him nearer to the sea. She stopped in her tracks when she saw what he was holding: their almost empty vanilla scented shampoo bottle. Her eyes widened and she bit her lips in an attempt to dampen her enthusiasm a little but his half-smile melted her resolutions and she threw herself in his arms. They swayed a little while, smiling against each other's skin and jumping around under the rain. After a few seconds, they were as soaked as if they had taken a shower.

"So," Stiles pushed away to look at her, "do you want a nice shampoo or should I give the bottle to that family over there?" he asked, winking.

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't ask something that stupid…" she tried sarcastically. But he looked so beautiful with his shirt clinging so tight to his muscles and his eyes turned darker because of the raindrops trapped in his eyelashes that she eventually smiled and sat down in the sand.

She sensed him kneeling down behind her and shuddered at the feeling of his fingers brushing the skin under the hem of her tank top. She lifted her arms as he peeled it off and closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of the rain on her sweaty skin.

As Stiles started massaging her scalp with a blob of shampoo, she had to bite her lips to muffle the loud moan that was about to burst out of her. A few years ago, she would have rather died than let someone other than experienced hairdresser shampoo her hair. The first time she had let Stiles do it was in the farm in Poland. He had shyly asked her if he could do it, and she had seen so much longing in his stare that she eventually caved in. She had told him she would guide him step by step. Very quickly, she had realized he didn't need so much guidance and just enjoyed how dexterous his fingers were on her scalp.

"Not that you weren't beautiful," his voice made her open her eyes, "you're always beautiful… But I can't wait for your hair to dry to see it regain its actual shape and colour."

She smiled and laid her hand on his knee next to her hip, giving it a squeeze. "Trust me, so do I…"

The foam was trickling down her hair and cheeks, wafting through the air a mild aroma of vanilla. Stiles's fingers kept doing their magic, slowly kneading the top of her scalp back and forth, rubbing in circles behind her ears and applying pressure points on the sides. After a while, the rain had rinsed all the shampoo and she felt Stiles squatting behind her.

She turned around and smiled at him, mouthing "thank you" and planting a peck on his lips. "Your turn?"

Stiles lifted his head toward the sky, "It doesn't look like it's gonna stop any minute so, why not? You're sure you don't wanna keep the rest for yourself?"

"It's alright," she shrugged, "you have short hair and I'm willing to live another week without shampoo for you."

"That's probably the most beautiful thing you ever said to me," he replied sarcastically with a hand over his heart.

Lydia scoffed. "I'm pretty sure I could do better."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard the insinuation behind them and pursed her lips. Stiles meant it as a joke, but maybe it actually _was_ the most beautiful thing she ever told him. Lydia looked down, embarrassed, but Stiles lifted her chin to make her look at him, "I didn't mean it that way, Lyds… It was just a stupid joke. I'm sorry"

How did he do it? How did he always know what was bothering her? As his fingers were gently cradling her jaw and the smile on his lips was slowly reflecting in his eyes, Lydia knew she had to start working on her plan. She was angry with herself. He shouldn't have to guess things, to read them into her. She should be able to say those things.

Stiles felt Lydia struggle with something. She was now looking everywhere but at him and she kept pursing her lips, gnawing at it. He tried to free her bottom lip from her teeth with his thumb. She was fighting against herself and Stiles knew why. He also knew that in order to help her, he had to fight against himself too.

Inhaling deeply, he grabbed her wrists in his hands, clutched at them and pressed them against his chest. He waited until she met his stare. "Lyds, it's alright," he said in what was barely a murmur over the loud storm. "I… I know. I already told you, I know it. I know how you feel about me, and I don't need you to say it." But saying those words felt like a lie and Stiles wished he could smother that part of him, that ridiculous part of him that still sought approval, the part that was compelled to say what he thought people wanted to hear.

It was almost a relief when Lydia shook her head. "That's not true, Stiles. You know that's not true. You can't be okay with that. There's not a single human on the planet that could live its life and be happy when there's no one to tell him he's… loved." Her heart pulsed harder at that last word and for a moment, she feared her voice hadn't been able to articulate it. But there was a spark of hope in Stiles's eyes and she knew that even if her voice had broken over the word, the wind had carried it to his ear. It gave her enough strength to go on. "Tell me the truth, please. I'm not being fair to you, am I?"

Stiles felt his entire chest tightening. He had never thought about her as _unfair_ , of course not. But Lydia needed him to be honest with her and with himself. Whatever it cost him, he had to admit out loud what he needed. He grasped tighter at her wrist, careful not to hurt her, "You're not being unfair Lydia, I promise. But I – "

"But you need me to say it, right?" she cut him off.

Neither of them could tear their eyes away from the other. Lydia's stare was too intense on him, her beautiful green irises fixated on him, as if they were looking for the answer directly into his soul.

At that moment, he realized how much they needed each other. Her scars wouldn't completely heal if he couldn't close his own wounds… And he wouldn't be able to do so if her own wounds were still opened. They both needed to take the leap.

So, he nodded. "I hate it, but I do. I do need it."

Saying those words felt awful. He worried it would come across like he was pressuring her.

At the last second, the scared teenager inside of him made him open his mouth to correct himself and say that he didn't need it _right now_. But there was something in Lydia's eyes, something that looked like pride and gratitude, something that dissolved that fear and made him close his mouth without tacking on those backpedaling words. He lost himself in it for a few seconds, relishing in this new feeling, completely oblivious to the downpour that was freezing him to the bones.

Lydia could tell her skin was shivering in the windy rain, only in her shorts and bra with water trickling down her hair and soaking her to the core. But she wasn't cold. Not with the warm imprint of Stiles's fingers on her wrists and her love for him burning her tongue with its violent strength. _I'm pretty sure I could do better_. Her own words from barely a few seconds ago still resonated in her head. She could, but she never did.

With a sudden calm that surprised her, she freed her hands from Stiles's grasp, peeled his shirt off and began shampooing his hair. The sound of the waves splashing against the rocks, the thunderstorms ringing out in the distance and the heavy raindrops digging holes in the sand weren't enough to distract Lydia from her thoughts. Eventually, she slipped her hands behind Stiles's neck to pull him toward her and kissed him gently, his stubbly chin scratching lightly against her skin. Foam was slowly slipping down his neck and their noses. Lydia leaned back at the taste of shampoo on the corner of her mouth and laughed faintly.

"One day, I'm gonna find the right words to tell you how much I love you, Stiles. I promise you. I'm gonna find a way to thank you for everything."

Stiles swallowed thickly and shook his head, brushing her nose. "You don't have to… You just did. Those were the perfect words, and you don't owe me anything."

Lydia let her hands run through his hair to get rid of the foam in his ears, "I know. That's exactly why you deserve it." She kissed him once again and added, whispering, "I love you so much."

"And I... You, Lyds." His voice had broken and he had to close his eyes to finish his sentence in an exhale. "I love you more than my own life."

Closing her eyes as well, Lydia nestled her head in the crook of his neck, her hand massaging the back of his head. She continued slowly in a low voice, picturing her words like frail dandelions' seeds blowing in the wind and aimed them at his ear. "I don't know why I never said it. I'm so in love with you, Stiles. I should have said it sooner. I was on my way… Maybe I was walking too slowly. I'm sorry. I love you."

His lips brushed her cheek, "Or maybe I was walking too fast," he whispered with an edge to his voice Lydia didn't like.

"No," she grabbed his neck more firmly and lifted her head, forcing his stare to meet hers. "No, you weren't. You're perfect."

"I love you so much," he crashed his lips on hers once, twice, thrice and leaned against her forehead, closing his eyes and drowning in her panting breathe. "God, it feels so good to say it… I love you, I always have. Always, Lydia." He kissed her again, longer and softer, running his fingers behind her ears to bring her closer, feeling the need to say it again getting stronger with each admission.

"I know," she almost sobbed, overwhelmed by the force and depth of his emotions. Leaning forward, she tilted her head to kiss him deeper and laid her hands over his neck and jaw. "I know, I know," She punctuated every word with a soothing kiss over his cracked lips, "I love you, and I'll never stop."

They kept kissing between smiles, laughs and sobs until they were out of breath.

Lydia eventually went back to the van to bring back soap.

Stiles watched her run away, not even moving to wipe away the rain drops in his eyes. Two things were rushing through his mind and completely obliterating all the others. He hadn't realized until now how much pressure he had put on himself to not say those words, to wait until she was ready to say them back and to hear them. There had been that shy admission of falling in love with her in Moldova, but it hadn't been serious. Words were powerful. It felt good to let them out.

It felt even better than hearing Lydia say them and that was a surprising thought. It was a strange feeling because it was the first time Lydia said she loved him and yet, it felt like it wasn't. It felt like she had told him a hundred times before. He knew that not being able to say it had been a struggle for her. He was overwhelmed with pride for her, knowing all of the things she had to go through to get here, with him.

But what mesmerized him even more was the fire he had seen in her eyes. Whatever she wanted to do to help him was giving her a determination and a strength he had never seen. He was realizing how astonishing it was. She had done everything to be strong enough and allow him to rest a little as she fought his battles for him. She was ready, that was what she had told him, that was what he had understood. A little voice in his head was still making him doubt it, but something told him she would also take care of it.

As she came running back, she was out of breath but her smile was so beautiful she seemed to be flying. He was still grinning when she kneeled in front him to start washing him under the downpour.

After a quick wash, they found a small shelter near the cliffs to enjoy the sight of the raging nature. Stiles laid his head against Lydia's shoulder while she rubbed his back.

Lydia understood why it was called the Black Sea. It was so agitated and the stormy sky was so dark, the sea itself appeared black. It looked like all the darkness they had poured into it during the last weeks was surfacing one last time before being swallowed in its depths forever.

Just like it had started, the rain stopped abruptly.

Shivering from the cold, they stood up and went back to the van, holding hands. Stiles went through his bag and gave Lydia a clean towel to dry herself and did the same before grabbing some clean clothes and retrieving the filled water cans.

Two days after, they decided to turn back, leaving the Black Sea behind them and at peace with the world.

Ahead of them were kilometres of empty roads. Empty but not unknown now that Lydia knew what she had been looking for. Maybe that was it, maybe she was finally able to stand bare in front of Stiles, maybe she had handed him the last brick of her wall.

And maybe she would finally be able to give him back everything he had given her.

* * *

 **October, November 2022**

After their excursion in the Alps and Austria in September, they had decided to stay around the same area and headed to Bavaria in Germany. As they needed a little money, they had found jobs in a youth hostel in Munich.

Almost a month there had been enough and too much. The last time they had stayed in a big city was in June when they had visited Prague and even if the return to urban civilization had been welcomed, the shock had been violent.

Lydia rediscovered with mixed feelings waxing after months spent shaving every two or three weeks. She liked feeling how smooth her skin felt under her fingers but at the same time, it had felt so good to live in a world where she didn't pay so much attention to the hairs on her legs. It had been the same when she had realized she would need to buy some make-up to work and had forgotten what foundation shade she usually bought. She had dragged Stiles to Sephora and had tried at least five different shades, all the same according to him.

"Do you want perfume, too? We could find something not too expensive." He told her, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the heady mixed scents in the store.

Absorbed by a lipstick she was testing on her hand, she didn't lift her head, "No, it's alright. I still have a little of that rose perfume you bought me and I know they won't have an equivalent here." She showed him the base of her thumb on which she had tried four red lipsticks. "What do you think?" she asked him.

But all he could care about was how natural it was for her to prefer something as cheap as the bottle he had offer her over a new fancy perfume. "I think I love you," he replied with a look full of adoration.

Focused on the study of the lipstick's shades, Lydia was probably not expecting that and stood quiet, not even trying to hide all the emotions crossing her face. "I love you too," she replied, gnawing at her bottom lip and blushing faintly as two girls were glancing at them from the corner of their eyes, smiling. She gave Stiles a quick peck and bought the lipstick that was the same shade as Stiles's lips after a few kisses.

Those days of work surrounded by people from around the world backpacking through Europe had been the occasion for them to test the words _boyfriend_ and _girlfriend_ that for some reasons they had never used. Those words felt a little too weak and artificial to define what they were to each other anyway, but Stiles liked to hear how protective Lydia sounded when she was introducing him that way. Once, he even caught her waiting for him to look at her before saying he was her boyfriend and he wondered if maybe, she didn't sound protective on purpose because she knew he liked it.

Once their short-term contract was over, they decided to disappear a few weeks in the forest and mountains in the south of the country near the Austrian border.

Stiles had spent his teenage years wandering and running in the Beacon Hills Preserve. He knew tourists liked to hike in those woods because they were less crowded than the other famous north Californian forests.

Except when he was a kid and his parents took him for a walk, he had never taken the time to enjoy those woods. He always knew there was something remarkable about them, that the trees were especially high and the landscapes beautiful. But to him, forest meant werewolves, Nemeton, sacrifices and death. Even years after, he hadn't been able to step a foot in a forest. In some of his nightmares, he would always lose his way to find himself in front of a tree stump, fireflies fluttering around and hypnotizing him. He would close his eyes in an attempt to resist, but when he would open them, there would be hundreds of bodies lying around him.

But when Lydia told him she would like to hike in forests and draw trees, he said yes. Because somehow, the woods were different with her next to him. Somehow, the shadows seemed to all take a step back when she was there. Lydia was glowing, raising her head to the trees and looking at them mouth agape and a little out of breath. They had just spent a little more than three weeks in the city but Stiles was realizing how much it had stressed her, forcing her to wear her former mask, the one that made her gasp for air.

She wasn't suffocating here and he wasn't either. It was a strange feeling because those woods were denser than the Preserve in Beacon Hills. He remembered vividly those high trees devoid of branches lower than three meters from the ground. He remembered the clearings and the space between trees that could make it difficult to hide.

Here, it was different. The trees weren't as high and they were larger, with branches almost touching the ground and conifers as far as their eyes could see. Stiles should have felt smothered, especially since the overwhelming scent of pine reminded him of his father. But he didn't. Instead, he was letting Lydia's light guide him, engulf him until he was sure she had somehow transferred her calm to him. He wondered if maybe she was able to draw her power from the Earth, just like she did from him. Whatever happened during their hikes in the woods, it made Lydia happy.

The forest had always been an enemy to Stiles, a place filled with his fears.

A place hiding countless traps emerging from the ground each step he took.

But as he faced north with Lydia, her warm hand leading him toward the unknown, he realized he had the ability to fly above the ground.

And the forest started to be filled with wonders instead.

* * *

When the wind turned too cold in November, Stiles took his mother's notebook and looked for a new destination. They agreed on Sicily in Italy to kiss the Sun goodbye one last time before winter. Stiles spent his days watching Lydia take up all the space she had always needed. Countless dinners were burnt because he couldn't take his eyes off of her when she was in her own little bubble, drawing.

She drew him once as he was asleep on a cold and grey morning. It was the faint sound of the pencil scratching against the paper that woke him up. He tilted his head to face Lydia, but the feeling of her cold fingers on his chin and her soft voice whispering "Wait, hold still" made him close his eyes again. A few minutes later, she woke him up again, brushing her lips against his cheek, "You can watch now".

She was gnawing at her lips, visibly nervous but more beautiful than ever with the pale morning light behind her and a few strands of hair escaping from her loose bun. Stiles didn't care that he had probably thought that about her at least a hundred times, it was always the truth. He smiled at her and took her drawing to look at it closely. What he saw took his breath away.

"Lydia… Is… Is that me?" He looked dumbfounded at her.

"I still have trouble with your hair, I know…"

"No, that's not it…" he looked at the drawing again. "I look… I look beautiful," a shy laugh escaped his mouth, making Lydia laugh.

"That's because you are," she replied, kissing him. Hypnotized by the look in his eyes, the one he seemed to have reserved for her, she put the drawing on the nightstand and leaned over him, straddling his hips with her hands each side of his head. "See those moles?" she kissed the small dots on his cheek before looking at him again. "They are the perfect shade. Not too dark against your pale skin, but brown enough and close enough to your eyes, so that they bring out their colours. Then, there are… your cheekbones…" she kissed both of them. "They are sharp; they give a perfect frame to your face. But at the same time, they aren't as sharp as they used to be when I first met you. Now, when you smile like a loon… Exactly like right now," they both let out a breathy laugh and she kissed his lips, falling on her elbows. "You have the most perfect dimples."

"Are you implying that my cheeks are fat?"

Lydia buried her face in the crook of his neck and laughed, feeling his chest shaking from laughter against hers. "Yes, you have chubby cheeks." She lifted her head to look at him again and they smiled at each other. "You're chubby because you eat well, because…" she hesitated and her face suddenly became more serious. "Because you live well."

"Yeah," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I live well because I'm in love – "

"Because we're in love." Lydia finished his sentence for him and they smiled at each other. "Do you wanna know what else I find beautiful about you?"

A small laugh escaped Stiles's lips and he bowed his head upward to kiss her. "I mean, I'm not gonna stop you…"

"Well, your eyes are also beautiful; I still can't tell their exact shade… I'm not sure I'll ever be able to name it. I think I got used to them looking at me when we were kids and when I couldn't feel them on me anymore, I – " She got suddenly a faraway look in her eyes and absently nibbled at her lower lip. "Before you found me, I used to look for something familiar, everywhere, all the time. I think I was looking for your eyes." She gave each eyelid a faint kiss, relishing in the feeling of Stiles's hands on her back, bringing her closer. "Now, when I look at them, I find everything I've been missing for all those years. I'm not sure there's a name for that shade." She watched as Stiles gulped and she moved her lips to his throat, whispering "Your neck is so warm, always," before going up until she reached his jaw, chin and lips. "Your lips are perfect, full and red." She slowly kissed each of them, feeling his body tense underneath hers.

His hands slid lower on her back and within seconds, she felt him all over her, the weight of his body entirely pressed against her. Trapped between his warmth and the mattress, she involuntarily sighed out of anticipation, making him smirk. When he talked, his voice was delightfully seductive, sending shivers down her spine, "I didn't know it was possible for me to love you even more than how I already did, but I do. I'm so in love with you, Lydia."

They both reached for a kiss at the same time and ended up bumping each other's forehead. Bursting out laughing, Stiles dropped kisses on her forehead and stroked her cheek, apologizing between small laughs. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you? Sorry, sorry!"

"It's… It's alright, Stiles," she answered after catching her breath and wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "It's alright."

xxxxx

Later, as Stiles was lying naked and peacefully above her, nuzzled against her collarbone and as she absently rubbed his back, Lydia felt light-headed. She had no idea how many times she had told Stiles she loved him during the last minutes, but it was still new to her being so vocal about her emotions during sex and it felt… amazing. "I never want this to end," she echoed her thoughts out loud.

Stiles pulled away to kiss her jaw before closing his eyes again and snuggling up against her. "Then it won't, because I don't want it to stop either."

"Good," she slid a hand in his hair, playing with the strands between her fingers and breathing him in deeply.

At that moment, she swore she could see the connection between them glowing in the air, something pulling them toward each other, something bringing them closer than any human being could ever be.

She had always been right. Words _were_ important.

When she told him she loved him one more time, the connection grew thicker and that spark in Stiles's eyes glowed a little brighter.

They were falling back asleep when the sound of someone knocking on their front door made them realize it was almost noon and they were still naked in bed.

"Stiles, can you get it?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"I'm not getting up and neither are you…" she felt his lips on her left hip and giggled, barely hearing him mumbling something about her _chubby_ _hips_.

"But it's probably the neighbour… We still haven't told her if we'd come over on Sunday."

Her eyes were still closed and by the sudden cold draft on her skin, she could tell Stiles had lifted his head. She opened her eyes and pursed her lips when she saw his concerned look.

Their neighbour Gina lived in the house just next door with her husband and her mother. Their four boys were visiting regularly with their wives and their own children. One Sunday every month, they were having a family dinner, bringing almost twenty people in their house.

Gina had come over a few days after they had arrived with vegetables, meat and a lot of other products she had bought at a local market. Her older boy Marco had worked eight years in the US. He had come back with a wife who never missed every year to gather the entire family for an Italian version of a Sunday Thanksgiving dinner. The minute Gina had learned her new neighbours were American, she had asked them with a broad smile if they wanted to join them.

Stiles had no idea what to answer and he was sure Lydia didn't either.

The knock on the door repeated itself, so Stiles rolled on his side to face Lydia, but she didn't move. They stared at each other until they heard footsteps fade away.

It wasn't just about meeting the neighbours and sharing a meal, it was an entire family dinner. As nice as Gina was with her gifts, her genuine smiles and hospitality, her invitation was making Stiles nervous.

"I don't like that face," Lydia said gently, propping up on her elbow to watch Stiles closely and run her finger along his lips. "Get up and get dressed, I'm taking you to the sea."

"What, now?" He didn't have to look outside to know there was a lot of wind. The old wooden window shutters kept banging against the wall and the wind was whistling when it would enter the room through a small gap between the two windows panes.

"Yes, now." She stood up, fast enough to prevent Stiles from trying to keep her with him in their warm bed. "We'll make sandwiches, put coats on and it's gonna be alright."

With a last peck, she got up and went to the bathroom. Just like that, it seemed that the weight on Stiles's shoulders was less heavy.

He smiled and followed her.

xxxxx

The day after, they accepted the invitation.

It wasn't out of mere politeness. Stiles had been devastated by the hint of anger in Lydia's eyes and the pang of sadness in her voice when she had told him about her memories of family dinners. Wrapped in her plum raincoat, she had talked while absently looking at the market's stalls as they had been walking, barely paying attention to sellers reaching out to them and giving them reductions for clementine and chest nuts or to passers-by bumping into her.

He had listened to her talking about those endless dinners, whether it was just with her parents or with her mother's family after her father had left. Stiles hadn't missed the way she never called them _her_ family and it had drawn him closer to her, as if he had wished he could reach that part of her that still ached, that still regretted her well-behaved silence.

Her words weren't the only thing he had heard. He had also heard her quiet screams, he had seen her pupils dilating, some leftovers of an old anger, old frustrations she had never allowed herself to let out. It had pained him to picture what she was telling him for many reasons. The first one being that he hated anyone who would make her feel uncomfortable and the second one being that it was so far away from what he had experienced that he almost couldn't believe it.

She had been so used to family dinners ending with her throwing up in the bathroom that for a while, she had thought she was allergic to white truffle sauce. Her mother was adamant about it: family dinners were the only moments in the year when they could have it, so it was an easy guess. White truffles made her sick.

It was so clear in her head that she never paid attention to the other signs that would have proved her wrong. For example, the fact that her stomach knotted long before they started eating. Sometimes days before, when their parents were starting arguing about whether they could invite friends or not, or when her mother wouldn't stop moaning and grumbling about her sister because she didn't want to spend six hours with her and her stupid husband.

But she had eventually opened her eyes and when reality had hit her, it had been even harder. When she had been able to spot the first subtle personal attacks hidden behind a devious grin and a sip of wine, she had also understood that she had been too late. Those vicious habits had been running for too long in their blood to be erased and replaced by something else, something she wouldn't even know how to name. To hide her quivering chin when the criticisms turned mean, she drank water, ate food that tasted like sadness and resentment. By the end of the dinner, she sat still in her seat, trying to look at nothing else but her plate. It was hard but she always did her best to focus on something other than the screams around her and the fists banging the table, making her glass shake. Anger and sadness mixed inside of her, merging into something heavy in the pit of her stomach, making her just as sick as all the food she had eaten without realizing it.

There was always too much to eat at those family dinners and yet, she always ended up starving. She knew something else existed, she had seen enough holiday movies and had noticed enough time how happy most of the other kids were when they talked about Thanksgiving for example.

Later, when she had been old enough to have her own opinion about her parents, she had found a little solace in taking part in those fights with biting comments and witty retorts. But it never fed her properly and all those boiling feelings inside of her never missed to make her just as sick the day after.

Stiles had taken her hand the entire time, not saying anything, but squeezing it each time he had felt like she needed it. They had walked a little more until they had reached a square near the lighthouse with a fence on one side opening on to the sea. The entire village was built against a cliff and made out of white stones, the colours contrasting with the brown of the cliff above and behind them. The grey sky and the blue sea were opening the space and it had felt like a breath of fresh air.

Lydia had offered her face to the wind, inhaling deeply and letting her hair flutter around her and tickling her face. "I want to be able to forgive them," she had said in a low voice. At that point, Stiles couldn't tell if she was still talking to him or to anyone who would listen to her. He had come closer behind her, wrapping his long arms around her, letting her lean as much as she wanted against his warmth.

"And you? What was it like on Thanksgiving?" She had asked, rubbing her hand against his forearms on her stomach. He had gulped and had tried to be as honest as she had been, fighting against the tears in his voice.

It had been different for him.

When Lydia had memories of fancy dishes from an expensive caterer, he remembered four entire days spent with his parents and Scott, the atmosphere vibrating with laughter and good mood. After his mother had died, Melissa had taken over by inviting them for every holiday. Years after, he was still very grateful to her. Never once had she tried to take the place of his mother, but she had tried to keep the blissful atmosphere of those days alive. Stiles had still helped her and his father in the kitchen, still making a mess of everything he touched. He had kept playing with Scott in the dead leaves' piles at the back of the McCall's yard before they always stormed in when Noah would come home after working only four hours to help a little more with him and watch football.

When Lydia had felt like a stranger in her own family, witnessing something that should have been hidden from her young heart, Stiles had memories of the unbridled hospitality of a family that wasn't his but that always pretended the opposite.

Eventually, his stories had made her smile. He had relished in her scoffs and had done his best to dig deep in his memory to bring back the funniest anecdotes he had about him and Scott. The time they had tricked the almost blind great-grandmother by switching salt with sugar, or the countless little shows they made, those shows that everyone applauded without having paid so much attention.

 _"_ _Let me guess,"_ she had said laughing at the top of the lighthouse and turning to look at him. _"Star Wars's scenes, or… a musical…"_ Widening her eyes, she had added. _"A Star Wars musical!"_

Stiles tried and failed to look offended, only managing to make her laugh more. _"Well, I tried once to have Scott memorize some of Luke's lines while I was Han, but he was so bad at it! So, we always ended up acting out scenes from sport movies or_ Harry Potter _."_

Lydia had scoffed, _"Sport movies?"_

 _"_ _Yeah, Scott liked it. Don't ask me why… Oh and I had my magic tricks!"_

It had went on for a long time, Lydia had laughed a lot to the point where it had brought tears to her eyes and Stiles had tried to explain some complicated magic tricks he had invented. When she had told him that she had invented some as well, they had promised they would show each other sometime soon.

They had walked from the lighthouse to the top of the cliff and had sat there, their feet dangling above the void and their little fingers linked, palms pressed into the wet grass. Underneath them on the right, they could still see the little square and the lighthouse with tourists taking pictures, smiling and laughing. Lydia's hair was flying all around her, stroking his cheek once in a while, bringing her faint rose perfume to his nose.

He had kept telling her about his memories and with each one of her laughs, it seemed to Stiles that she was slowly getting rid of her sadness. The wind was turning stronger, carrying her sorrow further and further away, mixing it with the waves that came splashing below them. It was a well-deserved fate, Stiles had thought. The only remains of her former life were now embedded in rock, forever trapped in a prison of salt.

Stiles had realized how long it had been since he had thought about those memories and had been surprised to notice that they didn't hurt. They made him feel good, warm and by the way Lydia had smiled and asked him for more, he had figured she needed those kinds of memories too.

So, they had eventually accepted the invitation.

When Lydia had looked at him with a smile in her eyes, Stiles had known it had been her plan all along.

The day before the dinner, they spent an entire afternoon cooking pies, making the atmosphere vibrate with laughter and wasting raw dough and flour in battles that always ended up in breathy kisses. Stiles found on Lydia's lips the taste of his old mother's recipes and the taste of those long gone and blessed days.

Those days he thought had forever vanished at the edge of his memory.

Those days that revived in her eyes with different colours and different tastes. Stiles wasn't surprised to find himself already addicted to it.

By the time they had finished, they found themselves with seven pies. Desert wasn't a joke and when Gina had told them they could bring it, Stiles had taken it very seriously.

 _"_ _We're baking the three kinds of pies,"_ Stiles had started while leading their cart in the supermarket alley. _"Pumpkin, apple and pecan. We even could even skip pumpkin, nobody likes it – "_

 _"_ _I like it!"_ Lydia had cut him off, watching with a mocking grin how his face had frozen.

 _"_ _Really? well…"_ He had cleared his throat. _"There's going to be 25 of us, so I say three pies from each and of course, a chocolate pecan pie extra."_

 _"_ _Choc-"_ Lydia had widened her eyes and had shaken her head, _"okay, first things first. We're not baking ten pies Stiles, that's insane!"_

 _"_ _But, what if everyone wants a slice of each?"_

 _"_ _They won't! Two of each if you want, but not more."_

Pursing his lips, Stiles had thought about it. _"But we're still baking a chocolate pecan one extra?"_

She had rolled her eyes, _"Yeah, if you want."_

 _"_ _Yes!"_ Pumping his fist, he had kissed her cheek, _"You'll see, it's delicious!"_ Then he had walked away toward the bakery alley and Lydia had spent one of the best afternoons of her life.

As they knocked on their neighbour's door, Stiles could tell Lydia was nervous. But, as soon as the door opened on smiles and smell of turkey and sweet potatoes, her agitation dissolved into the atmosphere.

Time went by so fast, that Lydia kept hanging on Stiles's hand to keep her balance, dizzy from all the questions asked with a genuine want to know her and all the "Do you want some more?" she didn't even have the time to answer before being served. Her head was spinning because of all those people speaking at the same time, laughing and bringing them in their swirl of joy without once questioning anyone's presence.

At the end of the day, when they returned to their little house and Stiles closed the door behind her, she burst into tears in his arms. Crying tears of joy, crying for the little girl she had been and who had been denied of a simple love like that for her entire childhood.

Stiles let her cry, repeating over and over to let everything go while he rubbed her little hand clutching tightly at his shirt.

In the end, when she fell asleep on the couch in his arms, Stiles realized the extent of what Lydia had been willing to do for him. She had tried to help him deal with the loss of his family enough time for him to know that as soon as Gina had invited them, it had been part of her plan. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, gazing at her in wonder and trying not to wake her up. She faintly moaned and nuzzled closer to him.

 _"_ _Do you plan on flying home one day?"_ one of Marco's teenagers had asked.

Stiles remembered having felt Lydia's stare on him. When he had turned to look at her, she had shrugged, answering _"We still don't know…"_

 _"_ _Maybe, one day."_ His eyes hadn't left hers while he had replied. He hadn't missed a single one of her reactions, not missed a single spark of joy, pride, hope and love in her stare. _"_ _There are some people we need to see."_

 _"_ _Friends?"_

He had shaken his head at the question. _"Family."_

For the first time he had felt that tinny nagging anticipation through his blood. That little sensation electrifying his body at the idea that _maybe_ he could be able to go back and fix things with people who had always mattered, his family.

Lydia stirred in his arms and he kissed her temple. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah…" she answered, rubbing her eyes and sniffing. "You know what I realized? That feeling of belonging you were talking about when you told me about your memories? I think I know it." She kissed his cheek and resumed in a lower voice. "With you… As long as I'm with you, I'll always feel like I belong somewhere. You're all the only family I ever needed."

Stiles swallowed thickly, overwhelmed by his love for her and hugged her tighter in his arms, "And you're mine."

"But I'm not the only one. You still have people who care about you."

"Lydia," he pushed away to look at her in the eyes and ran his hands on her cheeks, rubbing tiny circles on her skin. "The minute they'll meet you, they'll love you. If they are my family, they are yours too."

The words Lydia wanted to say stayed trapped in her throat. She surrendered to the magnet in his eyes and leaned forward to brush her lips against his, kissing him slowly.

The word _family_ had always felt like a mirage for both of them, a long gone notion for Stiles and a delusion for Lydia.

A word that sounded empty, that sounded like a broken promise, an unrealizable dream that kept hurting them.

But as they faced south together, their feet grounded and their hands linking their two hearts, they realized mirages only existed in deserts.

And they started to give the word a different meaning.

It wasn't until the end of December that they realized they had maybe stored enough to face west together.


	17. Yesterday snow

**A/N: Here is a Christmas chapter in April :)**

 **Towards the end, I mention Christmas market and chalets. In case you're not familiar with it, picture a market that takes place during Christmas, it's really traditional and kitsch and everything you want Christmas to be :) The chalets are how we name the closed stalls.**

 **Chapter 18 is in progress, be patient… :)**

 **What was this world**

 **before I knew you were inside it?**

 **Did I know, always, before**

 **confirmation came,**

 **did I feel you like a phantom limb,**

 **an ache across the darkness**

 **I couldn't see beyond, did I**

 **wake in the nights, sit up straight**

 **to the lack I knew you'd fill?**

 **Was this an intuition born into me,**

 **did I always know the spin**

 **of the soil below me when you**

 **were away, the slow**

 **when you came near? How did you**

 **make me forget, or was it always**

 **us, orbiting around one another,**

 **waiting to begin again, each time,**

 **waiting to understand.**

 **\- Tyler Knott Gregson -**

 **Friday, December 24** **th** **2022, 1 AM – Germany, Berlin**

Lydia opened her eyes, hoping that Stiles's sleeping figure next to her would make her forget about the stupid apprehension that had gripped her from the moment she had gone to bed. At this point in her life, she should have been used to it. After all, it was the same every Christmas's Eve. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, she understood that something was actually wrong.

Stiles's eyes were closed, but his forehead kept creasing and his eyelids twitched too much for someone who was peacefully asleep. Affection tugged at her heart, spreading through her entire body, and instantly she found herself seeking more of his scent and warmth by snuggling closer to the hollow of his neck. Still sleeping, Stiles wrapped his arm around her and laid his hand on the small of her back, his fingers pressing lightly, a little below her pajama pants. Lydia brushed her lips against the skin of his neck, feeling his veins swell and his pulse slow down.

His hand slowly moved up until he reached the back of her head. Lydia answered his silent question and nuzzled even closer, encircling his waist with her arm to dispel any remaining space between them. He bent his head against hers. His hot breath whispering to her ear in their secret language and the pressure of his bicep on her cheek eventually eased her anxiety.

As she felt Stiles drawing her with him towards a warm peacefulness, she clung tightly to the connection between them – that electric current that enveloped them both and that brought her every night closer to his soul's bruises.

Little by little, Lydia had learned how to differentiate her own dreams from the others. She understood that she couldn't control her dreams, she couldn't observe them from an outside perspective. But with time, she had found out that she could infiltrate Stiles's subconscious to observe his thoughts and memories at night.

Over the past few months, she had trained her own mind to help Stiles focus only on the most positive images and sensations that came through his mind. Naturally, she didn't remember anything when she woke up, but the serenity imprinted on his feature when he opened his eyes always told her everything she needed to know.

What she was witnessing now wasn't one of her dreams. She was in Stiles's mind, and it wasn't an actual dream – it was more like a memory. Memories had fewer details than dreams and they always had a different flavor. Stiles's dreams were a whirlwind and often left her panting in a swirl of colors and emotions. But his memories were slow, focusing on a detail or an emotion, always one at a time. As if his unconscious savored them spoonful after spoonful so he could distinguish all the tastes and ingredients they contained.

 _And this memory was a delight._

 _In this memory, Stiles couldn't have been more than six years old. He was playing in the snow in his garden with another boy that Lydia immediately recognized as Scott. They were throwing snowballs at each other, sending high-pitched notes and curls of white clouds that looked like marshmallows soaring through the cold air. The two kids were out of breath and Stiles's cheeks – as red as his hat – stood out against his pale skin. The boys stopped laughing for a few seconds and without uttering a single word, they both turned their heads up towards a bright and cloudless blue sky. They opened their mouths to catch some snowflakes that seemed to materialize out of nowhere._

 _Stiles's memories never failed to make Lydia fall even deeper in love with him at the simple sight of such inconsistencies. He always paid attention to details and in his memories, they often got mixed up. Lydia thought it was how an artist's mind worked, always focusing on details he found beautiful in order to draw an even more beautiful picture. Here, that memory contained a lot of things: a sky painted in a deep and vibrant blue, a shy and veiled sun that still flooded the landscape in warm colors, a dry cold and the snowflakes that somehow left a long-forgotten taste of cotton candy on Lydia's tongue. It was as if Stiles had kept all of his favorite aspects of winter in mind to bring them into his childhood memories. Sadly, this memory wasn't clear, and Lydia had to reconstruct some kind of chronology to understand what was happening._

 _A woman opened the door and called the boys. "Scott, come on, I'm taking you home. Your mom has lunch waiting for you."_

 _Lydia felt a pang of sadness, it must have been Claudia. But sadness was soon replaced with amusement when she saw Stiles standing in front of his friend, his arms crossed. "But mom, we want to build snowmen!"_

 _"_ _After lunch, sweetheart. We'll pick up Scott after your nap, alright? Now, go help your father in the kitchen while I walk him home."_

 _Scott took Claudia's hand, a look of disappointment written all over his face, but Stiles wasn't done negotiating. A miniature version of Stiles began articulating a lengthy and detailed explanation about why napping was for babies – and therefore not for him, and why it was important to use fresh snow for snowmen, all the while using gestures and facial expressions that Lydia had memorized like the back of her hand._

 _In a moment, his father came out of the house and called in a voice that made his lips quiver. "Stiles, listen to your mother and come help me."_

 _"_ _But we want to build snowmen, and I don't want to take a nap after lunch… It's not my fault if Santa was late last night!"_

 _Claudia and Noah exchanged a knowing smile, and Lydia saw Noah run a hand through his hair and behind his neck, reminding her of Stiles. The way he remembered them almost moved her to tears. It was the first time she saw them and yet, there was something emanating from them she had always known, something genuinely good and warm in their eyes. It was the same thing reflecting in Stiles's wonderful eyes. She wished she could have met them. Her sadness was so strong it almost woke her up._

 _"_ _Well, Santa had a lot of work last night," answered his father. "People don't know how to drive when it's snowing…"_

 _"_ _Noah…" whispered Claudia as Stiles and Scott started frowning._

 _The scene blurred a little and such a strong feeling of happiness engulfed Lydia that all the colors around her suddenly flickered more brightly._

 _A woman who must have been Scott's mom had joined them and all five of them were building snowmen and dogs in the garden, laughing and throwing snowballs at each other. If it was possible, the sky was even bluer than earlier, and the snowflakes had grown to the point that they looked more like round and fluffy butterflies, as light as the air itself and as graceful as swans. They were dancing around the scene, playing with gravity and making it look like a living painting._

 _Stiles's memories were pieces of art. It never surprised Lydia: his mind held the most beautiful treasures of the entire Universe._

 _The two boys were now under a large tree at the back of the house, where the snow still covered the grass in a thick and smooth blanket. They were lying side by side, talking and making snow angels with their small limbs._

 _"_ _When I'm a grown-up, I want to live in a country where there's snow all the time," said Scott._

 _"_ _Yeah, me too! We could even live in an igloo!" Stiles chimed in._

 _They laughed and stood up, racing each other, then standing still to catch more snowflakes in their open mouths or on their coats. The snowflakes would spiral over and around their extended arms a few seconds before landing softly on the fabric. Lydia couldn't stop smiling as she was watching Stiles trying to laugh as noiselessly as possible to keep from frightening the snowflakes that would somehow turn into bubbles, each of them bursting into millions of droplets catching the sunlight when they weren't melting in a sigh onto his sleeve._

 _His eyes were so bright, holding so many smiles and laughter, that it wrenched Lydia's heart to know that he would soon have to fight with all his strength to keep that flame alive. She wished he would never have to, she wished she could give him more time, or at least, help him remember that day more clearly._

 _But the sky was already darkening. The mild and dry cold turned humid and made Lydia shiver._

 _"_ _I love snow!" Stiles's young voice echoed in the air until it faded away, joining the evaporating silhouettes of five ghosts._

 _Before it all turned to dark, a firework of snowflakes burst outwards in a joyous shriek that rose from the ground to spread in the atmosphere, but when it spiraled down, the fluffy white balls were as heavy as hail and as grey as dust. They smothered everything light and happy in Lydia, making her suddenly feel hopeless and sad, as if her soul was weighting too much for her own body to bear. She tried to hold on to those last notes of hope, but Stiles had been clever enough to hide them deep enough inside of him, keeping them out of reach of what was to come._

 _The same voice with a more adult and cold tone emerged from the darkness and froze Lydia to the bones. "What was so good about snow, little shit, mmh?"_

 _She didn't notice the change of place right away. The night was dark all around her, and she was in a city. This memory was different, it felt more realistic and she felt everything more deeply, just like when she was witnessing one of her own memories. When Stiles's eyes fell on her, she could have sworn he had actually seen her and for a second, she thought it would lighten her soul, but it didn't._

 _He was walking on a sidewalk, barely lifting his head and groaning every time he slid on the mud made out of melted snow mixed with dirt, litter and pollution. After a while, Lydia noticed that Stiles wasn't alone, someone was with him. They were having a conversation, but Stiles was only answering monosyllabically and only a few words were reaching Lydia who was fighting against a sensation of suffocation that made her head spin._

 _Stiles knocked on a door and the other man, visibly drunk, stumbled inside as it opened. A woman was looking at Stiles with wary eyes, standing between him and the entrance. "Are you staying with us, Noah?"_

 _The name first baffled Lydia, but she quickly remembered what he had once told her about having to change his name many times. Her stomach twisted at the thought that he was using his dad's name, wondering whether it was a way to punish himself, or if it was a way to commit himself to always do the right thing; like a guiding star. Whatever it was, it made her lips tremble with quiet sobs. She wished she could slap that woman hard enough so that she would never dare talk to him with such cutting tone._

 _Stiles lowered his head. "No, I… I'll let you celebrate Christmas with your family. But thanks anyway, Lindsay."_

 _"_ _As you wish. Have a nice evening and merry Christmas."_

 _She closed the door and Stiles remained motionless a few moments, listening to the woman and the six other people inside sighing in relief as they talked._

 _"_ _There's something wrong about him, I don't like it."_

 _"_ _He's not bad, he's just… alone, you know?"_

 _"_ _Yeah, I feel sorry for him"_

 _"_ _Well yes, but would you have him for an entire evening? I wouldn't!"_

 _"_ _Besides, you already invited him to your wedding…"_

 _"_ _I had to! He saved us from that fire..."_

 _It went on for a while. As soon as she heard the first sentences, Lydia rushed towards Stiles to stand between him and the door, laying her hands over his ears and trying to call him by his real name to get his attention. It was useless. It was like reaching to touch the Moon through a telescope. He was just there, right in front of her and, at the same time, light years away from her. If his body was there, his soul must have found a shelter to hide away, probably some place where it could dance under a rain of butterfly snowflakes. Far, far away from here._

 _Several long minutes after, Stiles sniffed and quickly wiped his nose on his sleeve before turning around. "Fuck you," he mumbled before leaving._

 _Lydia couldn't hold back her sobs this time and broke down crying, kneeling in the frozen mud when his silhouette vanished into the night, swallowed by the darkness. That awful sensation of suffocating kept getting stronger, merging with an overwhelming loneliness and forming a heavy lump in the pit of her stomach that threatened to swallow her as well._

 _"_ _Lydia?"_

 _She would have recognized that voice among a thousand and felt that lump dissolve in an instant as she lifted her head. "Stiles?"_

 _He rushed to her and kneeled with her in the same puddle of sticky muck to take her in his arms. It's only then that Lydia realized that it wasn't the Stiles from the memory, but the one supposed to be lying in bed next to her. The difference was striking. This one was older, but he seemed younger, his skin wasn't as pale and he looked less drawn._

 _"_ _What are you doing here?" she asked him, suddenly forgetting her tears._

 _"_ _I don't know… I heard you crying, so I wanted to comfort you and… I ended up here." He quickly glanced at his surroundings. "Although, I have no idea where_ here _is… Hold on a sec," he stood up, extending his hands to help Lydia stand up. "I know this place. What are we doing here?" He stared wide-eyed at the window and at the house's interior. "Are we in one of my memories?"_

 _"_ _I think so, yes." Lydia took his hand, trying to soothe both of them, but it wasn't enough to keep the same anxiety as before to filter through her every pores. Lifting her head, she caught sight of Stiles's wet eyes. "Stiles –"_

 _He wiped them on his sleeve and sniffed, squeezing Lydia's hand. It was so similar to what the other Stiles had just done that her chest tightened again. "You should wake up," she added softly._

 _"_ _No, not without you."_

 _They stared at each other and Lydia suddenly wanted to bury his face in her arms, protect his sight and heart from a memory that was so violent it nearly ripped her guts out. But something was preventing her from moving, and for a moment, she wondered if it was possible to stay trapped in a memory._

 _More than anything, she wanted to help Stiles's mind to move on from that scene; not to linger here. But at the same time, she didn't want him to wake up with this as his last memory. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate and collect her wits. His voice rang in her ears, but when she opened her eyes, she was alone. Stiles's voice echoed once more around her, carried by the wind until it disappeared in the black sky._

 _A sky as black as the void swallowing her up._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _"_ _Lydia!"_

 _._

 _._

 _"_ _Lydia!"_

 _._

 _"_ _Lydia!"_

 _Stiles kept calling her in the hope that she would turn around, but she kept walking a few steps in front of him. The lingering feeling that he had spent his entire life doing that exact same thing was nagging him. He had spent his entire life desperately calling her and his voice had never reached her ears._

 _But his heart violently disagreed when he decided to stop._

 _It wasn't true. It wasn't true at all._

 _She had heard him. She loved him._

 _That little flame grew bigger, warmed his heart, lightened his soul and gave him enough clarity to realize that something was wrong._

 _The Lydia he was following wasn't the Lydia he had left kneeling and crying in the snow. Completely dazed, he turned around but oblivion was staring at him. A boundless and ruthless void. Like a reflex, he ran in the other direction before it got a chance to swallow him up. He tried again to catch up to the Lydia in a green coat a few steps ahead of him. She hadn't stopped, but he could hear her talking with a man._

 _"_ _What's so good about snow?" she sounded aggravated, but it wasn't fooling Stiles. There was a lingering sadness in her tone that felt like a dagger in his stomach._

 _"_ _Look, the only thing I know is that couples pay a lot on Christmas for a portrait in the snow. Now, if you don't want a drawing, why don't you leave and go get laid sweetheart, because you seem a little tense…"_

 _The man sounded so smug that Stiles reached to punch him, but his face contorted in a grimace of pain when his fist connected with the wall._

 _He blinked once, twice and the scene was gone. In front of him, Lydia kept walking away, her green coat the only color in the entire street. For the first time, he noticed the plastic bag in her left hand: takeout from the most expansive restaurant in town._

 _How did he know that?_

 _As he fell into step with her again, his heart broke at the thought that she was ordering_ takeout _for Christmas. Just like he used to do._

 _The street eventually blurred and he stopped. Powerless against it, he felt the freezing cold working its way through his shoes and socks, making him shiver from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair. He glanced around him: grey blocks of buildings, a black sky and endless streets bathed in a weak and flickering electric light. At his feet was some kind of disgusting slush, trapping the tiniest blade of grass and building a crown around every trash can._

 _Some called it_ snow _. Those people had no idea what they were talking about. Maybe he wouldn't feel that way if he hadn't been raised in a city that had known more supernatural disasters than snowy days, but to Stiles, snow was a gift from nature. Something she offered to mankind to soothe their soul, allowing them to see the world differently. Snow brought joy, blissful oblivion and laughter. It was a chance to start all over again._

 _What was sticking to Stiles's shoes on this sidewalk wasn't snow. The snowflakes falling from the heavy clouds above him were ambushed by pollution and dust. In their perfect innocence, they were vulnerable. Before they could touch the ground, they had already become tainted, lost their true essence._

 _He realized that he was walking on a mass grave – a ground of withering hopes, the unfulfilled dreams of a bunch of kids who thought they could save everyone._

 _In front of him, the street kept quaking, vanishing, and reappearing. He felt as though his head was about to explode under the burden of an awful pressure-filled ache. It was as if millions of radios were interfering with each other at the same time. All those voices and noises were reverberating in his mind, making it impossible to pay attention to his own thoughts. As he tried to blindly follow Lydia, he knew she had lost herself, her anger and sadness building a lump at the pit of his stomach. The need to take her in his arms and make her turn around was the only thing moving him forward but no matter how fast he walked, he couldn't catch up with her. Even when she was standing still, the distance between them was never shrinking._

 _He blinked and found himself in what seemed to be her apartment. The table was set for one with elegant china, but Lydia was nowhere to be seen. Her plate was barely touched and the television was on. Insipid characters were wishing each other a merry Christmas on a painfully lively music._

 _Aside from the flickering light of the screen, the apartment was plunged into darkness. He heard her cry and followed the sound to find her kneeling on the bathroom floor, heaving over the toilet seat. She was holding her hair with one hand as her stomach was contracting, forbidding her to keep anything in. Stiles didn't have to talk to her to know she was suffering in agony. A simple glance at her kitchen had been enough to know that her stomach must have been deprived since the beginning of December. Stiles tried to focus on a happier time, reminding himself that this wasn't Lydia anymore, that their cupboards were always filled with too many things, because she loved spending time choosing their dinners with him._

 _Lydia was safe and happy, she was with him and they loved each other._

 _She was safe._

 _With a tentative smile on his lips as his only torch to chase the shadows away_ , _Stiles stepped inside the bathroom and moved closer to Lydia._

 _Simultaneously, she froze. Then she slowly lifted her head as if a sense of calm was passing over her, soothing her aches away. She turned her head, and Stiles felt his heart race when her eyes seemed to fall on him for a few seconds. That was when he understood that the same quietness/tranquility had hushed the noises in his own head._

 _Suddenly, Lydia looked towards the window and the hint of a smile brushed her lips. He saw her standing up very slowly, as if she was afraid that the slightest move would tear the frail veil that had protectively cloaked them. With an almost reverential gesture, she opened the bathroom window and wiped away the last remains of tears on her cheeks. With a soft sound, they landed on white tiles decorated with daisies, magically dissolving within their yellow petals on contact._

 _Stiles watched as she slowly leaned her elbows against the ledge, her face still shining from tears in the cold light, a few strands of her hair joining the snowflakes in their waltz outside. He knew she was supposed to be younger than the Lydia he knew, but her features looked tired and drained of energy. She had cried so much that her eyes were puffy, and her lips were swollen. She looked older. She was still beautiful, but it was a heart wrenching beauty. The kind of beauty that paralleled so many ancient and forgotten tragic heroines._

 _Her smile drew Stiles closer, and he leaned over her shoulder. What he saw took his breath away._

 _Downstairs, in the street, five floors lower, was a silhouette watching her. Standing as still as her._

 _His own silhouette._ He _was looking at her._

 _Suddenly, he remembered that Christmas._

 _He remembered wandering through the streets for a little while to in an effort to relieve his sadness after his encounter with Lindsay. He had bought food somewhere and was completely lost in his thoughts, letting his feet lead him in front of that building. Something inside of him had compelled him to raise his head to the only window that wasn't illuminated with star-shaped cardboard lights and candles. The only apartment gilded in darkness. He had seen a silhouette leaning towards him and had heard the "Merry Christmas" escaping her lips in a whisper that had materialized in the air, taking the snowflakes in its wake, spinning them around at the sound of a song he had forgotten the words. Something about hope and simple joys._

 _He remembered the soothing calm he had suddenly felt, as if that frail silhouette he could barely distinguish was speaking directly to his soul, blowing away the dark clouds around it with her murmur. Tears had streamed down his cheeks, merging into the corpses at his feet and giving the snow its whiteness back when they would sink into the dust._

 _He remembered thinking he was going mad. It wasn't possible: even if that person was talking, he couldn't have heard anything. And yet…_

 _For a moment, he had smiled at the idea of crossing the street and finding this apartment, changing his life, maybe even create a new direction._

 _Could two lost souls make each other happy?_

 _But he already knew that answer: two negatives didn't always make a positive._

 _Two lost souls could entangle themselves, and merge together to fall into a deeper abyss._

 _He had lowered his head, thinking there was probably something poetic about his tears fighting a lost battle against the dust in a desperate hope to free the snowflakes, but he couldn't have said what. When he had walked away, he had felt his soul struggling, begging him to turn around because he wasn't taking the right direction._

 _And it was probably true._

 _But his compass had stopped pointing north long years ago._

 _He had no idea where it was pointing now, because whatever direction he took…_

 _There was only darkness._

 _In her apartment, Stiles heard Lydia beg the silhouette to stay, repeating "No, no, please come back!" in a broken voice filled with sobs. His heart tugged when it occurred to him that she must have felt the same things he had._

 _When he had read her sudden calm in her shy smile._

 _When he had spotted her longing to go downstairs in the hand she had begun to lift towards the bathroom door before stopping herself._

 _The voices had stayed quiet in his head…until he saw his outline vanish around the corner of the street, letting the contents of the plastic bag it held spill onto the ground. In a matter of seconds, his head broke out into a burst of screams. Just then, a fox appeared from behind a trash can and took everything away, erasing his footprints and dooming the snow he had freed to a new eternity in its prison of dust. As if nothing had ever happened._

 _Lydia collapsed on the floor, gliding along the wall and letting some snowflakes inside the bathroom to cover the cold white tiles. She burst into tears, sobbing with her entire body, shuddering more and more violently._

 _Then, she screamed._

 _That scream reached Stiles across time. He felt it with the exact same strength he had felt it years ago. It pierced through his heart and sent shivers up and down his spine. He had thought about that silhouette again and had asked himself if this was the noise souls made when they cried. Whatever it was, it was a language his own soul had understood because he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had been at a crossroads and had chosen wrong._

 _He closed his eyes, feeling down deep inside that he was back years ago, almost sensing the snowflakes landing on his frozen skin. For a few frightful seconds, he had wanted to stand where he was and let that ruthless coat stick to him and cover him up entirely, erase him from the face of the Earth._

 _"_ _Come back…" Lydia's broken voice made him open his eyes, but he had cried so much that his vision was blurry. He kneeled to take her in his arms, but just like in the street earlier, his hands couldn't reach her. As if what he was seeing from her was just a shadow projected by her soul to keep her safe. She lifted her head and his heart leaped to his throat when he felt her stare on him._

 _"_ _Lydia?"_

 _Reacting to his voice, she reached for him through a swirl of snowflakes, but her fingers only grasped emptiness and she cried even more._

 _"_ _I thought I saw a face in the snowflakes…"_

 _Her voice coming from above him made Stiles lift his head and he saw her._ His _Lydia, the one who shared his bed and his life. A rush of relief overwhelmed him. He wanted to stand up and take her in his arms, but he felt paralyzed._

 _"_ _But there was nothing, no one. I stood there all night and in the morning, my feet were covered in greyish snow…"_

 _Her voice faltered and it gave Stiles enough strength to stand up. At the same time, their surroundings seemed to dissipate before coming back._

 _"_ _Stiles, we need to wake up. I thought I could make that memory go away, but it must weigh too much inside of us. I can't do anything."_

 _"_ _Lydia, it… It was me… Outside…"_

 _"_ _Yeah… Yes, it was." Her stare turned towards the window and Stiles saw the tears in her eyes catching the moon light._

 _"_ _Was it really you, here? Is that a memory?" As she silently nodded, Stiles felt the lump in his throat grow bigger, constricting his entire chest. "But I have to bring him back, tell him to come back here!" he blurted out in between tears and sobs._

 _"_ _Stiles," Lydia caught him by the hand and that contact was enough to shake their surroundings one more time. "There's no use, it already happened… It's a memory, we can't alter it."_

 _"_ _But… But I can't leave you like that!" His voice broke over the last word when his stare fell on the collapsed figure curled into a ball next to the toilet seat. "Lydia…"_

 _"_ _You didn't, Stiles…" She felt her voice quiver with sobs and hung on tighter to his arm._

 _The bathroom walls vanished, the street disappeared, and only four silhouettes remained. Two of them were desperately trying to melt into each other. Another one was standing still, taking as little space as possible. The last one was slowly vanishing away, the surrounding darkness smothering the already flickering lights in both of them._

 _._

 _._

 _"_ _Stiles, you didn't leave me like that, you came back…"_

 _._

Stiles woke up in a start and stood up, breathless and feeling his heart racing. His cheeks were bathed in tears and it took him a few seconds to catch his breath, muffling his sobbing until it stopped. The memory of his nightmare was already hazy, but the impression it left on him wouldn't leave his body and his mind. He had given up on Lydia, he had abandoned her.

Some kind of crackling was still filling his ears, cutting him off from the outside world. But slowly, the noises faded away and he eventually noticed that next to him, Lydia wasn't awake but was tossing and turning, moaning in between sobs. His blood started pulsing furiously against his temple and as he tried to catch hold on Lydia's wrists to steady her, the contact with her frozen skin triggered his own anxiety.

He called her name, softly at first and then louder. She wasn't waking up and for a few seconds, Stiles wondered if she was maybe trapped in the same nightmare he had made.

Seconds…then minutes went by and Stiles's fear only increased.

As his hands kept trying to catch her attention with tender caresses on her cheeks and firmer grips on her arms and shoulders, sobs were mixing with his words. He was powerless against it, not really knowing what was coming out of his mouth. His only certainty was that he had to wake her up.

The more his touch lingered on her, the more he was pressing on her shoulders to anchor her, the more his own chest was shrinking around his heart. But it didn't matter.

He laid his forehead against hers, calling her in a soft voice, pleading with her to open her eyes and show him their beautiful color. He had cried so much that it felt like his entire body had been drained from its water. His lips were dry and his eyelids swollen. His entire body ached, pulling him towards her. The contact between their foreheads was the only thing bringing him any peace. He focused on that small bridge between them, that little spark of hope and inhaled deeply with his eyes closed.

"Lydia," he whispered so faintly it could have been mistaken with his breath. "Wake up, I'm begging you. Come back. Come back to me, I'm not leaving you, ever. Come back, please."

Those words seemed to reach Lydia somehow because between two sobs, he heard her whimper "Stiles, come back, come back…"

He kept answering her patiently that he was there, that he would never leave her again, that he was waiting for her to come back to him. It was impossible to cease his tears now that he felt the talons of his nightmare around his heart and its threatening voice next to his ear reminding him that he had given up on her. Something inside of him was telling him that it wasn't just a nightmare and that mere thought was enough to make him sick.

How could he have abandoned her? When? Or had his mind started to trick him again? Was he even _there_?

Feeling his mind waver, more and more, under his questions, Stiles will to wake her up weakened under the pressure of his doubts. But then, Lydia opened her beautiful green eyes and still panting, she ran her fingers through his hair. Stiles sobbed even more violently and dipped his head into the crook of her neck, kissing her skin with his smiles, feeling it warm up under his lips.

Neither said a single word for a few minutes, both trying to tame their fears and calm their breathing.

Stiles's body was a comforting weight above Lydia, and she kept working to bring him closer. To her, it felt like waking up from an awful nightmare. Something must have gone wrong. Stiles vanished, and she hadn't been strong enough to make him stay. That idea nauseated her. She tightened her embrace around Stiles, aware that he was doing the same.

"I thought I lost you," he admitted, leaning on his elbows above her as he cupped her face and massaged her temples. "I… I had this nightmare and I think abandoned you, or something."

His hushed voice was still full of sobs, and Lydia felt the need to bring him still closer. She wanted to tell him that he hadn't left her alone, that it was all her fault, but her words stayed stuck in her throat and transformed into kisses. She drew his face to hers, laying her lips on his skin, kissing it with the desperation of a last time.

Stiles buried his face in her neck again, encircling her head in his arms and kept talking, his words leaving wet kisses on her skin. "I'll never leave you, Lydia. Never."

"Me neither. I won't either. I promise."

Stiles lifted his head and kissed her more fiercely, his lips against hers still quivering with the intensity of his sobs. When his mind started to emerge from the darkness, his kisses turned less desperate, softer. As he was about to pull back a little, Lydia pecked his lips once, then twice with shy moans that melted his insides. Her face was still bathed with tears, and her eyes shone too brightly in the moonlight. He followed the path one of her tears had carved down her cheek, falling from her face to crash against her ear and lose itself in her hair. He felt his own tears follow the same path, merging in her hair. Lydia brought her hand to his cheek, drying it in a tender gesture and smiling.

Without giving it a second thought, Stiles let his heart burst, emptying it into hers with everything he had always kept for himself. "I'll never leave you, Lydia." With every word he spoke, he could feel the shadow of the nightmare slowly fade away, brightening Lydia's eyes and unclenching the cold hands around their hearts. "As long as you'll want me, I'll stay with you. I'll never hurt you. I promise."

To Lydia's ears, his soft voice was barely a murmur among the noises and screams filling her head and tearing at her heart. But that was enough to silence everything else and free her soul from the suffocating embrace of her nightmare. It was enough to help her cross the hungry emptiness that had started to settle in her.

"I'll never make you cry, and I'll try every day to make you smile. I'll love you for my entire life, Lydia. I always have and I always will…through good and bad times…'til death do us part. I promise." He kissed her again, feeling her fingers in his hair and her lips parting to greet his breath.

His words helped Lydia leap above the emptiness to reach the shore she had always hoped to find.

"Stiles," she whispered against his lips, hoping her words would fill his soul, chase away the last toxic vapors of his nightmare that had started to slow his heart down and make him doubt his own existence. "If you think I'll let death separate us, then you're mistaken. I will never let anything take you away from me. Not your doubts, nor your fears, not even death. I'll look for you in the depths of the Underworld if I have to. I'll keep loving you and protecting you even beyond the end of Time. Even when we die, my soul will seek yours everywhere…and I'll love it as much then as I do today…even more, if that's possible."

She stopped talking, and Stiles remained silent, both feeling that words would never be enough. Their stares carried everything that remained to be said. They let their breaths mingle, passing from her to him and back. Their inhales and exhales helped both of them hang on to life, before vanishing around them with the last images of their nightmare.

Slowly, Lydia became aware of Stiles's body above her – a body that wasn't hindering her, but that weighed enough for her to feel his heart beat in every pulse and sense each of its surges. She closed her eyes a few seconds, losing herself in his presence, still amazed by how comforting it always was, amazed by how easy it had always been to just _be_ with him. With the purest of intentions, she lifted her legs around his waist and laid her arms around his neck. Stiles leaned completely against her and they kept breathing together, trying to be as aware of the other's body as possible to synchronize their breaths. It wasn't the first time they ended up like this, desperate to breach the surface by clinging as tightly as they could to each other. The first time, Stiles had been afraid to crush her, but soon realized that he was actually helping her mind to not lose itself in boundless heights.

"Stiles," she loosened his grip on him to allow him to lift his head and gave a last kiss on his lips. "I… Can we get out of bed and talk a little?"

"Yeah, you wanna walk for a while?"

She silently nodded, reluctantly letting him pull away. Already missing his body's weight above her, she shivered from the cold.

As he stood up, Stiles reached out to help Lydia out of the bed. She caught his hand and immediately curled into his arms. They swayed to the sound of an imperceptible music for a little while, seeking solace and comfort in the simple words the other was whispering into their ears . Lydia let herself get completely enveloped by Stiles, his warmth against her body, his hand in her hair, and his voice that seemed to reach the deepest recesses of her soul, coaxing it out of its hiding spot.

They put their warmest clothes over their pajamas without stepping too far away from each other.

Outside, the air was freezing. But without that wind coming from the deep North they never really got used to, the cold was soothing.

Absently, Lydia was watching her lined boots sink into the thick blanket of immaculate snow. Her mother's voice rang somewhere far away in her memory, _"Lydia! Stop playing in the snow, or you'll corrode the leather of your shoes!"_

With a sad smile, she remembered a time when she used to love snowy days, a time when her heart would swell for no logical reason at the sight of her garden covered in that blanket that always seemed to invite her to jump inside. She would imagine that an entire world of wonders was hiding beneath it.

It hadn't last long. The scary image of small teeth devouring the shoes and feet of the children who refused to behave had filled her nightmares.

And after… After, her heart had forgotten. It had forgotten about the snow just like it had forgotten about a lot more.

The imprints of her shoes in the snow were hypnotizing her. It was really early in the morning and the sidewalks hadn't been cleared of it yet and Lydia caught herself feeling guilty for disturbing such beauty, such silence.

Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn't realized that Stiles had stopped. He gently caught her arm and tenderly called her name. She stopped and lifted her eyes towards him. He was smiling, looking in front of them. Lydia followed his stare and saw a fox watching them before running away in the opposite direction. A small laugh burst out of her lips and she gazed at the white curls her breath was drawing against the darkness of the night before vanishing amongst the dancing snowflakes in a sky without stars.

A vice suddenly tightened around her heart and the silence that was so beautiful a few seconds ago, became unbearable. Maybe it was some leftover from their nightmare because Stiles's features tensed, and Lydia felt like he was suffocating. She took his hand, doing her best to communicate her presence to him, despite the wool of their gloves.

It had to have worked because, with a smile, he squeezed her hand and they started walking again. Then Stiles was the one who found the right words to tear through the veil that had wrapped itself around Lydia's heart once and for all. "Do you want to find a restaurant like last year for Christmas, or should we stay just the two of us at the apartment?"

Like a magic formula, those two words "last year" reshaped nothingness into memories that warmed her soul. Stiles, beautifully handsome, with her, in a small restaurant they stumbled upon in Krakow. The scent of roasted meat filling the air, laughter, smiles, and a lot of warmth that contrasted with the icy cold of the Polish winter. No anxiety, no nausea – nothing. She had barely realized it was already Christmas.

A boundless bliss heated her heart and quickly spread through her entire body, almost liquefying her legs. She moved closer to Stiles, leaning her cheek against his shoulder. "I'd like to snuggle on our couch this year…if you don't mind…"

He shook his head, laughing and kissing her temple. They kept talking, letting their words chase the silence away, dot the sky with stars, and add intensely vibrant colors to the black and white around them.

Lydia realized that maybe this was what people liked so much about the holiday season, about snow: a blank canvas on which they could draw all the pictures they wanted. She felt a twinge when her thought wandered towards her parents who had always lived those holidays like they were competitions, who must have never been able to enjoy it. Maybe she would find the strength to forgive them after all.

"I think I'm starting to understand," she said after a few seconds of silence.

As if he could read in her mind, Stiles nodded. "I used to love Christmas when I was a kid and… But it became an actual nightmare those last years. I think… I think those holidays don't make sense when you have no one to make happy."

He placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close against him to lay his cheek above her hat. Sadness suddenly spread in Lydia's stomach as she pictured Stiles, alone in his apartment, trying to recreate the Christmas he had always known. The ones he knew when his family surrounded him. She saw him decorating the tree, setting up candles and lights, listening to Christmas songs and looking inside of himself for that spark of glee he was supposed to feel… all in vain. That picture was crystal clear because she knew she could have easily switched it with her own memories.

Her heart seemed determined to rebel against it, and she felt like all she had to do was jump into the unknown to lighten those memories and create a new picture. But without Stiles, the unknown felt too much like a threatening void, as scary as all the others.

"Will you show me…how to do it?" she whispered, her voice faltering a little. When she raised her head, she caught his eyes, looking at her without understanding. She cleared her throat before resuming. "Just like Thanksgiving last month… Will you show me how real people celebrate? I wouldn't know where to start on my own." She took a few seconds to consider her next words. "Like, are we supposed to walk in the snow with Santa hats and eggnog? Do we hang mistletoe everywhere…so we can kiss under it? And…" She winced a little, pursing her lips as she looked at him. "Do people really sing carols for their neighbors?... Is it what you did?"

She felt Stiles stop next to her.

"You've watched a few too many Christmas movies, haven't you?" he asked.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes when she saw his smile and raised eyebrows. But then, he took her back in his arms and kissed her nose, right above her scarf.

It made her giggle, and she hid her face in his coat. "I'm telling you, I'm completely lost without you. I need you to show me. I want to live _your Christmas_. I don't want the past to weigh on your memory. Maybe if you show me… Do you think you could?... I mean… Do you want to?"

He tensed in her arms. Lydia didn't have to look in his eyes to know that those ghosts were still haunting him.

"I do want to, but I'm not sure I can."

"Stiles," she gently kissed his frozen lips and continued in a low voice to prevent her words from flying too far away. "I know you're afraid, but you trust me, right?"

"Of course."

"I'm not saying it will be easy. I know it will bring back painful memories, but I'll be there. I promise, I'll be there with you. You just have to take the leap…and I'll follow you. Nothing is too scary when I'm with you." She nibbled at her lips, waiting for his stare to return of her. "If you jump, I jump, Stiles."

He lost himself in her eyes, in her smile, the warmth of her body against his and the softness of her lips. Feeling her trust all around him, supporting him, he nodded, "Alright."

Stiles extended his hand and Lydia took it, as promised.

Together, they resumed walking. Nothing mattered more than each other's presence.

Their steps lead them to a Christmas market, closed at this hour. Yet, the empty aisles and closed chalets seemed to be filled with spirits and laughter hanging low in the atmosphere, only waiting for the Sun to awake them and rekindle the entire city.

Lydia took off one of her gloves to run her hand over the accumulated snow on the edge of a window. The tingling sensation it incited made her smile and around them, the air shifted slightly, thawing the frozen laughter of all the kids whose parents caved to their innocent pleas for a cinnamon doughnut that was too big for them.

When Stiles threw a snowball at Lydia and reached her scarf, his laugh awoke those of teenagers who were allowed to go out for the first time unsupervised and dove in a thrilling euphoria after a few sips of stolen mulled wine.

He took Lydia by the hand, spinning her around him and humming the lyrics of a song she was sure she had heard somewhere. As she crashed against his torso, making the snow sing under their shoes, they were joined by the shadow of the couple who had an entire house to decorate for the first time, with too many gifts to buy for people they would never see outside of Christmas.

They strolled amongst those ghosts, thawing them with each step. All those lives carried by their words filled the silence, leading Stiles and Lydia to a chalet that looked older than the others.

Stiles easily picked the lock and after asking Lydia to wait a few minutes outside, then let her in with a crooked smile on his lips.

Deep down, she had always known that no life was worth more than any other, that her happiness wasn't better than someone else's. And yet, she would never trade this life for another because the feelings overwhelming her when she stepped in the chalet, finding Stiles smiling at her like she was the most precious treasure on Earth, had no near equivalent.

They drank a hot cocoa in the soft light of red and yellow electric Christmas lights, speaking in hushed tones. Lydia laughed quietly as she kissed Stiles to wipe off some chocolate at the corner of his lips and laughed even more the second time when she realized he was doing it on purpose.

In each other's arms, they slowly danced to a song that Stiles had always kept on his phone. The only memory he allowed himself of a time when his parents were still there to color his perceptions with their love.

"They'd listen to it every year," he explained, his nose buried in Lydia's hair and focusing on the pressure of her hands behind his shoulder blades. "I'd watch them dance next to the Christmas tree, trying to not bother them." A small laugh escaped his lips and reverberated through Lydia. "They would kiss, and I would try to not wince too loud… I couldn't help it sometimes, and they would look at me, laughing and gesture for me to join them. We could dance for hours, just the three of us."

Lydia tightened her grip around him, trying to smother the sobs hidden behind his words. She pushed away a little and nudged his nose softly, coaxing him to lift his head. When he didn't, she laid her lips on his nose and smiled, "Stiles, look at me."

He didn't open his eyes but tilted his head enough for her to glide her lips over his skin…until she reached his mouth, kissing it in a series of loud pecks that eventually made him laugh through his breath. Lydia kept kissing him until she could feel his hands in her hair, until she could feel him coming back to her.

They continued dancing in each other's arms, listening to the same tune, over and over again, speaking infrequently and letting tiredness slowly overwhelm them. Around them, the atmosphere was still vibrating from all the lives they had awoken, all the lives that were still waiting to emerge from the darkness.

All the lives that were still to be imagined.

And the ones that still abided in them, unknown and ready to blossom.

The next day, they jumped – together. The following night, Lydia was able to find her way back to the two ghostly silhouettes that had escaped her grasp in the dream she had shared with Stiles. She gave them what they couldn't find all those years ago in the darkness of cold and lonely streets: a direction to follow. It glowed inside of them, tiny little sparks strong enough to keep the shadows at bay through the years.

Two inner lights that had never stopped calling for each other without knowing it.

But hoping, always hoping.

xxxxx

A week later, at a New Year's Eve gathering, they stood on a balcony overlooking the city. When Stiles looked at his phone, his smiling figure cradled by a white coat of snowflakes that glittered as they caught the moonlight, Lydia understood.

She understood that somehow, the hope she had implanted had crossed the ocean.

She understood what was so good about snow because she watched Stiles staring in wonder at the white particles at his feet and at the night sky dusted with millions of frozen specks of laughter. She saw those graceful fluffy winged formations that seemed to spiral up and down around him, lightening his soul and expanding it as brightly and broadly as his smile.

It was a few minutes before midnight and Lydia closed her eyes, smiling as she let her own soul reach Stiles's soul.

When they met, they danced for a while under a kaleidoscope of butterfly snowflakes that merged into a unified burst that sounded like joy – a firework reminiscent of a song whose notes were composed out of hope.

A song that seemed to have returned from a very, very long journey.


	18. In your eyes (part I)

**Sorry for the wait, that chapter took a lot from me and as it's an important one, I didn't want to rush anything... I hope it will be worth the wait!  
As it was really long, I cut it in half, so I'll post the second part next week :)**

 **Just so you know, I'm taking liberties with the fox legends at the beginning, those legends exist, but the part about the soul being whole is something I added.**

.

We are told from infancy, from the days  
spent staring up at all those we  
tried to understand, that love was,  
and is, and should always feel  
like coming home. These wandering  
years, these nomadic months spent  
above clouds and far from the  
walls that hold me, and now I  
know, love, actual and honest love,  
is the joy of running far away, into  
the wild beyond, and in the  
delirious peace that comes only  
with adventure, glancing at the horizon  
and seeing home, coming to  
you.

\- Tyler Knott Gregson -

.

That night, in northern lights, Lydia saw more than a shower of charged particles being emitted from the Sun and entering the magnetic field of the Earth.

She was twenty-two years old. It was the first time she was still working at 1AM on a paper that was due the next morning – because she couldn't finish it, because poetry wasn't her thing, because Baudelaire wasn't making any sense, and because it was impossible for something as beautiful and innocent as northern lights to be the _reflections of fireworks in hell_.

That night, Lydia fought against her urge to scream. She fought with all her strength as if it was a matter of life and death. She wouldn't scream, or the Sun would never rise again.

That night, she gave up on a paper for the first time in her life and accessed the Spitzbergen Islands webcams, hoping to observe northern lights and understand them better. Because that night, nothing felt more important.

That night, she saw a pink dot on the horizon of one of the cameras, and her heart beat stronger because she knew it was more than a dot. It was more than the contact point between the Sun and the Earth. It was what they looked like when they were one. It was proof their love was strong enough to conquer distance, darkness, and emptiness.

And for a second, she thought that maybe, it was a good sign, an omen she could trust.

And she smiled.

.

That night was the night Stiles almost died.

He was twenty-two years old and hadn't moved for at least an entire hour, buried underneath a blanket of snow on the side of a deserted road in Norway, his blood adhering his shirt to his chest and dripping from his ears.

That night, hours later, he woke up next to a blazing fire, brought back to life by a man who had been camping to watch the northern lights.

That night, Stiles learned that those lights weren't just death omens in some cultures, he learned that some people believed they were the snow that the red artic fox would toss at the sky when he ran over the mountains. It was strange, Stiles thought, how the truth could have so many faces, how the same animal could bring the Sun and the Earth closer to each other in some parts of the world and feed on chaos in other parts.

 _"_ _If your soul is whole, the legend says you can see the fox,"_ said the man, his eyes glued to the horizon.

 _"_ _Can you?"_ Stiles asked.

 _"_ _I try,"_ the man replied.

That night, the sky was painted in pink for a second, and Stiles thought he saw a silhouette in the distance.

 _"_ _Did you see anything?"_ asked the man.

 _"_ _No,"_ he lied and closed his eyes, feeling something twitching in his heart, something that had the fragrance of lilacs and the face of the most beautiful human being on Earth. _"I miss her."_ His voice broke.

 _"_ _Who?"_

 _"_ _Lydia…"_

That night was the first time his tongue had carved her name out of the silence in a long while, and he cried silently, feeling tears rolling down his cheeks.

 _"_ _Are you alright?"_

 _"_ _I'm fine."_ Stiles opened his eyes to the vision of a rainbow sky. _"It's just beautiful."_

 _"_ _What's beautiful?"_

 _"_ _The lights."_

 _"_ _There's no lights."_

Stiles blinked, but the lights were still there.

 _"_ _Yes, there is. And it's not Hell… That's impossible."_

That night, for the first time in a while and the last for a long time to come, Stiles smiled.

* * *

 **Saturday, December 31th 2022, 11.40 PM – Berlin, Germany**

They were in the middle of a conversation with the hosts of the New Year's Eve gathering they were attending when it happened.

Beside him, Lydia was nodding at something one of the other guests was saying, her left arm tangled with Stiles's left one and her fingers squeezing it from time to time. He didn't know if she realized she was doing it every time they were with other people. Since he couldn't tell if she was trying to reassure him or herself, he would always lean towards her to brush her temple with his cheek, or lips.

It wasn't all the time. Sometimes, they would find people who had a familiar soul, and it was easier.

But this night, Stiles couldn't focus on any conversations. He was already distracted when they had arrived because Lydia had small lilac flowers in her hair, and it was triggering a lot of things in his memory.

At one point, Stiles grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray just as his phone rang inside of his pocket. It had taken a while for him to realize that it was his phone because nobody called him. Ever.

Before Lydia, it was rare, and it was only in reference to Peter. The incoming calls were from disposable cell phones that never left a trace. Once in a while, he had to save a number, but would always delete it after a few weeks or months.

Before Lydia, there was only one contact he always kept in his phone. Now, there were two.

But nobody ever called him.

Despite that fact, it always surprised Stiles to see that he still had the same habits as before, back when his phone would always buzz in his pocket for one reason, or another. His phone had never left his pants pocket. Useless, but there.

When he took it out and saw the name flashing on the screen, he wondered if it was possible that he had kept those habits for that exact moment.

He was hypnotized, unable to grasp what was happening. His brain seemed to be paralyzed, freezing his entire body in a posture that forced him to keep his eyes wide open and the glass of champagne stuck halfway to his lips.

The screen vanished, as if it had understood that its buzzing didn't have the desired effect. Then, as Stiles stood motionless, the phone buzzed one last time, indicating the most absurd thing he had witnessed in a long time: he had a voice message.

It was the contact of Lydia's hand on his left hip that brought him back to reality. She must have felt that something was happening, because as the guests were being called elsewhere, she had encircled his hip with her arm and was massaging his side. Already sensing her everywhere around him and inside of him, he turned his head to look at her, hoping he would be able to draw a little of her strength. Her hair tickled his nose, and the scent of the lilacs that decorated her braid brought him back to a memory from years and years ago. One that kept scratching at the back of his mind ever since she bought the flowers.

She had found them the day before, in an ephemeral greenhouse that had opened for the holiday season and which sold flowers that were hard to find in December. Stiles had gone with her, and as he was listening to the florist, his memory followed a path it hadn't followed in a very long time. It was a path he had tried to avoid over the years. During that time, the accumulated dust had almost blocked the way, but yesterday he brushed past every spider web and pushed against the door. It had opened with a long creaking sound that was still echoing inside of him. It wasn't the first one he had reopened – Lydia helped him find his way back to memories countless times before. But doors like that scared them both, and they had always been careful with those. Because behind them were the opposite of happy childhood memories. Behind them, death and the supernatural were waiting.

The memory was well hidden, but Stiles had never forgotten, and when he opened the door in his mind, he was relieved to notice that the memory it concealed was still intact, despite his lack of visits and Peter's aura tainting it.

Lilacs were Lydia's favorite flowers.

Stiles knew that since sophomore year of high school…

It was two days after he had found her naked in the woods. The day he discreetly asked her mother about it, hoping to bring something Lydia loved to brighten her dreary hospital room. He still remembered the apologetic look on the florist's face when she told him, that sadly, lilacs weren't in season, and that she didn't have any at the moment. He left the shop empty handed, refusing the other flowers, one after the other, telling himself that he would rather offer her nothing than make a compromise. Even back then, it was inconceivable for him to compromise when it came to his love for Lydia. It was all or nothing.

With empty hands and a tight heart, Stiles headed to the hospital to meet Scott, who was already there to ask Lydia what she could remember. Scott must have called when Stiles was in the flower shop, because when he climbed into his Jeep and took his phone out, he noticed a voice message. In a whisper, but with a cheerful voice, Scott had told him that in a semi-conscious state, Lydia had asked him to thank his friend – _the cute one with a weird name and beautiful brown eyes_ – for finding her _again_. _I should talk to him next time_ , she said.

 _Again_. She had said _again._ Somehow, Lydia was aware that he had been with her.

Scott also told Stiles the doctors had given her so many medications that it was nearly impossible for her to remember what she said, but that piece of information changed everything. Because when Lydia flew away a few months later…along with a piece of his heart, she had also left something in return. Something so small and tiny – a speck of dust she had probably never noticed on her, _in her._ A speck of dust that was as precious as if it was coming directly from the rings of Saturn to his heart. A snowflake he wished he could have framed to admire the details under a microscope even in summer.

Though Stiles had never asked Lydia about it, he was sure the memory was behind a door in her own mind. The kind that she kept locked for good reason, and he wouldn't ask her to open, if she didn't want to.

Merely understanding that Lydia had noticed him and that she knew, on some level, that _he_ – not Jackson, had found her on the lacrosse field, made a world of difference to Stiles. It helped him stay strong. So, when Lydia's egotistical boyfriend would congratulate himself in the boys' locker room for saving her, trying to make himself sound heroic as possible as he falsely recounted the event to their teammates, Stiles could look Jackson straight in the eyes. Unblinking with a raised eyebrow, he would silently dare him to continue bragging about something he didn't do. Jackson always ended up lowering his gaze and shutting his mouth.

But most importantly for Stiles, knowing that he was somewhere in Lydia's mind helped him during the early days of her absence. It had helped him hold on to the certitude they would meet again one day. It would just take a little more time.

After all, he had been right.

Today, he still wondered sometimes where that determination – the same one he had held to when he tried to bring Lydia her favorite flowers and which he used to put Jackson in his place – he wondered where that determination would have led him if Lydia hadn't left at the end of sophomore year.

Stiles put his phone back in his pocket and put his arm around Lydia's waist to pull her closer to him and kiss the side of her head, letting his mind get slowly intoxicated by the mixed scents of lilacs and rose.

"What's wrong?" she softly asked him when they were alone.

But his words stayed trapped in his throat, and Stiles pointed towards the balcony with his chin, already feeling his chest constricting around his breath. Lydia understood instantly and told him to go ahead while she gathered their coats and two pieces of cake.

Outside, Stiles barely noticed the cold biting at his skin. He closed the bay window behind him, muffling the noise of conversations and music. His ears only caught a din interrupted by occasional laughter and the slow and heavy rhythm of the basses. He didn't look back at his phone right away. Instead he leaned on the rail, letting his mind go numb, dissolve into those deep notes that echoed in every empty spaces of his body. From the corner of his eye, he spotted three silhouettes below on the street, three lonely figures whose conversation reached his ears, filtered by the snow falling in light flakes. Words, in tones of a language he didn't understand, and which lulled him into a dazed state.

Years ago, being surrounded by people he couldn't understand scared him. With time, he had learned to relish in the feeling that he was observing a world from the outside, somewhere he didn't belong, someplace he could escape any moment. But on this night, his full attention was focused on the Moon, drawing a crescent in the sky that had carved a small window through the clouds to offer a harsher light to his sudden loneliness. He had always found some comfort in her, noticing that across the world, she was the same. The same Moon would rise over Beacon Hills and Johannesburg, the same Moon would light the wincing faces of the corpses on battlefields and the first shy kiss of two lovers.

Some things never changed…

And all he had to do was call his voicemail to determine whether it was his brother's reflection he had been seeing in the Moon for the past ten years, or if it was just an illusion.

Stiles heaved a deep sigh, bothering the slow fall of snowflakes for a few seconds before lowering his head to lean it on his forearms. He stayed still a bit longer, trying to find something, anything to anchor his mind.

One of the three silhouettes below suddenly squealed, startling Stiles. Without giving it more thought, he took his phone out and dialed his voicemail number. With closed eyes and one fist clenched tight around the rail, he hung up after a few seconds.

 _"_ _Stiles, it's me—"_ were the only words he could hear before his heart leapt into his throat. His eyes welled up, and he slumped over his forearms. He tried to fill his lungs with fresh air, but only exhaled sobs. Suddenly straightening up, he turned to face the bay windows. Everybody was inside waiting for midnight, which was drawing closer and closer. He looked for Lydia in the crowd, but she was nowhere to be found, so he closed his eyes, trying to expel the sobs from of his exhales.

His name, pronounced by a voice he had never really forgotten, echoed in his head. The voice of a friend whose life had been ruined.

Because of him.

The voice of the only brother he had.

And whom he betrayed.

Harsh words, pronounced without meaning them, and images flashed before his eyes. With them came the same sensations he had once felt twisting his stomach.

First, there was blood, too much blood.

And then, piled up corpses. Not unknown bodies, but people he once knew as his classmates, kids who had struggled to learn their multiplication tables and who had paid the highest price for wanting to be part of something bigger than themselves.

His own eyes, empty, letting the fox feed on the last glimmer of life in Scott's eyes as he twisted a katana in his stomach.

Scott, Allison, his own father…

Stiles didn't dare open his eyes, fearing he would find their ghosts contorting in pain, pointing their fingers at him and looking at him with disbelief written all over their faces. At that moment, he wondered if one day, he would really be able to escape them, if one day, he would be able to give them the peace they deserved.

As tears prickled at the corner of his eyes, he felt something pulling his eyelids open, a colorful energy that spread all around him in an emerald veil. His stare crossed Lydia's eyes, and he let himself dive into the ocean of green in front of him. In that bubble of bliss, he remembered the rest. In her eyes, he saw the reflections of the good memories, the ones he had told her, the ones instilling his bruised heart with a comforting warmth, healing it slowly and helping it beat stronger every day.

Her eyes helped his hands remember that they had more often patted Scott's back than stabbed him, helped his muscles remember that they developed to race him in their children's games, not to learn how to fight. His brain was reminded that Scott's greatest power didn't come from his bite, but from his heart. A heart able to forgive him, despite everything.

In Lydia's eyes, he remembered instant comradery, mischief, teenagers' secrets, and the simplicity of the very first years.

He glanced at the Moon, smiling and feeling snowflakes melting on his nose. A mild warmth spread through him and he inhaled deeply, letting out a laugh underneath his breath that flew high above him in a white curl. His eyes closed and he relished in the taste of the long-lost years. Before Lydia, before loneliness, and before Scott. During that time when memories were made of colors, scents and impressions, of half awaken dreams.

As far as he could remember, there had been snow. Was it already in Beacon Hills or in Poland for holidays? Stiles had no idea. He only remembered the snow and the peacefulness that had spread through him, probably for the first time at an age when sitting quietly for five minutes was almost impossible. Maybe it hadn't last longer than five minutes, but that quiet inside of him had tasted different, as if it was made out of something _more_ than usual. That was what had brought Scott and Stiles together in the first place: both of them had been looking for a white pencil to draw their best holiday memory at school, because both of them had chosen a snowy day.

Stiles had always enjoyed the serenity that came with snow and had feared for a long time that his body had forgotten it. Lydia helped him remember and under this flurry of snowflakes, he felt them gracefully land on the skin of his neck and melt with delight. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he was reminded of the butterflies he liked to draw because it was _funnier that way_. Scott always made fun of them. Stiles stared at them for a little while, that memory hadn't crossed his mind in a very long time, and it felt good.

He raised his head higher and opened his mouth. In the sensation of the snowflakes melting on his tongue, he recalled the taste of those long-gone years – the cheerful ones, the innocent ones, the ones he wanted to find again so he could collect and reshape them, offer them to Lydia in a necklace, or in bouquets of flowers she could use to decorate her hair… Whatever she wanted.

The world had expanded lately, but Stiles hadn't lost his way. Thanks to her. She had helped him find a fixed point, a center he could always come back to whenever he was feeling dizzy. She was the one he could look to when he needed to regain his balance. It was impossible to count the number of times she had held his hand when he was about to fall. If there was one person he knew he could bring with him into the maze of his memories, it was her. He would never lose his way with her.

Something changed in the air, and somehow, he knew Lydia was approaching. As he turned his eyes to the bay windows, he saw her trying to open it with one hand, the other one balancing their coats and two plates of cake. Stiles stepped towards her to help, taking the plates and quickly closing the window behind her. Music and laughter escaped in the night a few seconds before dying down again, leaving the two of them under the snow, smiling and shivering.

In a few minutes, it would be midnight and they would enter a new year. Never had the word _new_ felt so appropriate, resonated so deeply inside of him. This new era, this new life almost seemed to vibrate in the atmosphere, following the messy rhythm of the basses coming from all around them. They just had to reach.

Without saying anything, he laid their two plates on a small white wrought-iron table, pushing the ashtray aside.

"So?" asked Lydia after he had helped her into her coat. There was something in her eyes, some spark that made him wonder whether a part of her already knew.

"Scott left me a message."

She smiled slowly, nodding and turning her gaze towards the Moon as she nibbled at her lips. It echoed in her. He had no idea how, but it did. As if they weren't just connected, as if they were sharing something more at that moment. Sharing a brain, a heart… _a soul._

"Will you listen to it with me?" he continued.

Inside, people were feverish. How long until midnight? Five minutes? One? Time had stopped on this balcony. Or rather, times were colliding. That collision would have sounded improbable a few years ago, but it seemed obvious today. Everything they had inside of them collided as he felt their souls reach out at the same time. For a second, it reflected in Lydia's eyes, and it was beautiful – some kind of green glittering tail that shone brighter when she lowered her gaze to look at him, nodding.

"Of course," she murmured from the tip of her lips against his cheek before kissing him. The warmth of her lips lingered a little on his skin, and without waiting any longer, he drew her closer.

She sneaked her arm in front of him under his coat and Stiles smiled as he felt her trying to wriggle as close to him as possible. He put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her even nearer and kissed her cheek. They breathed together, the weight of her arm over his stomach helping him concentrate a little more.

After a few seconds spent fidgeting with his phone in his hand, Stiles called his voicemail and put it on speaker.

Scott's voice filled the night air with even more electricity. It was a warm but hesitant voice, as quivering as Stiles's hand holding the phone. The tone was more mature than what he remembered, but it was still the same.

 _"_ _Stiles, it's me, Scott… I uh… I hope everything's alright with you. It's been a while. I've been wanting to call you, and with New Year's Eve coming… I don't know, it felt like a good time."_

Stiles felt Lydia's fingers on his lips, and he relaxed his jaw. As Scott heaved a quiet sigh, Stiles kissed her knuckles before she could put her hand back in her pocket.

Then, Scott continued, his voice losing its hesitation with each word.

 _"_ _I have something to tell you, something pretty big… I'm not sure leaving it on your voicemail is a good idea, but what the hell… I… I'm gonna be a dad. In two months, can you believe it?"_ He let out a small laugh that made Stiles smile as he exhaled the breath that was burning his lungs from being withheld.

 _"_ _The baby isn't mine, but that doesn't change anything. I'll be his or her dad, and I'll love him or her anyway. I really wish we could talk. I have so many things to tell you… But I'd understand… I'd understand if you don't want to call me back given how we left things off—"_ His voice broke on those last words, and a silence followed.

It was so heavy that Stiles felt it drop directly into his stomach. He didn't have to move for Lydia to understand his distress. She nuzzled closer to his neck, and he buried his nose in her hair. Scott didn't resume right away, and it felt like all the joy that had filled Stiles's heart a few seconds ago had been punched out of him, leaving him as weak and miserable as the last time. Everything came back to him, the pain, the anger, his own last words, everything he had sometimes forced himself to believe hadn't really happened. But it had.

Instinctively, he held on to Lydia, trying to fixate all his attention on the torch she was handing him to help him keep the shadows at bay. Those shadows that had once given him an illusion of freedom and power during too many years. He still had them, he always had them. He knew it was the reason why the fox had settled inside of him. Allison was too bright for the fox, but his soul had always been dark.

Then, Scott's voice rang out again, thickening the shadows and almost smothering the flame.

 _"_ _I'm leaving. We're leaving Beacon Hills."_

Stiles heard Scott hold his breath, as if he was giving himself time to process his own decision. At the same time, Stiles held his breath too. Never the idea that his best friend had stayed _there_ all those years had crossed his mind. Why? Panic overwhelmed him, and suddenly, he feared he would never be able to catch his breath again.

 _"_ _I wanted to stay. I swear I wanted… I wanted to wait for you to come home, but I… I can't now, not anymore. This town is… Well, I don't need to tell you, you know how it is here… I don't want to… We can't raise our child here. I hope you'll understand."_

A long silence followed during which Stiles thought it was the end of the message. The voice that came out of the speakers was so different from Scott's natural voice that Stiles felt his heart break in millions of pieces.

 _"_ _Will you forgive me? I… I need you to forgive me, Stiles. I can't raise a child in this world knowing that I ruined my best fr– my brother's life. It's all my fault. You were right. I know it's useless to go back to the past, to look for someone to blame, but… I could have done better… I should have been better._ _I'm so sorry."_

Scott held back some sobs, giving Stiles some time to process everything he had heard.

 _"_ _I'd understand if you don't want to call me back… I would, but… I need you. My life… My life is about to change, and as much as it makes me happy, I'm not sure I can do it without you. I need you, I… I need your forgiveness. I miss you so much…"_

He sniffed, and Stiles had to wipe some tears that had started to roll down his cheeks. Everything in him was still: his heart was frozen, his breathing had stopped, everything was slowly getting swallowed by guilt and self-hatred. How could he have done this to Scott? Without Lydia by his side to give to his chest a movement to follow, he wouldn't have been able to remember how to breathe and would have probably let his withering soul crumble to dust right here.

 _"_ _I wish you a happy new year, whether it's still to come, or already passed for you… I don't know where you are. Happy new year anyway. We all miss you."_

Inside, people started counting down, and on the other end of the line Scott hang up.

Without a word, Lydia took the phone from Stiles to put it in her pocket and wrapped herself around him, encircling his waist with her two arms and burying her face under his chin.

Stiles couldn't think about anything. Something was twitching inside of him, and he couldn't tell if it was his own guilt, or if it was Lydia's soul trying desperately to make all those shadows take a step back. He tightened his embrace and lowered his head. The world faded away, replaced by a strawberry blonde field that smelled like lilacs and felt like silk. All the shadows were gone, they were still lurking somewhere, but as long as he stayed like that, he could breathe.

 _8_

 _7_

He hadn't heard the first seconds of the countdown, but those, he heard loud and clear, down to the marrow of his bones. They echoed in his entire body, waking him up from an ultimate nap.

 _6_

With each chanted second, Stiles felt his heart beat stronger next to Lydia's. He couldn't raise his head, so he kept it lowered, buried in the velvet of Lydia's hair which softness and scent had gradually replaced everything else.

 _5_

Lydia's nose sniffed faintly against his neck and it was probably the softest thing he had ever experienced.

 _4_

He tightened his arms around her again, and Lydia returned the gesture. He wouldn't raise his head.

 _3_

The year would end like that, in her hair. And the new one would be born from her scent, from her body.

 _2_

From her soul and from her heart.

 _1_

From their love.

And the street awoke. Windows opened all at once to liberate everything that had been confined: laughter, cries, music, and fireworks. All that life burst out and poured all around them. The world that seemed to work in slow motion until then suddenly accelerated, as if it wanted to catch up lost time.

As if their bodies were made out of magnetic particles, Stiles and Lydia let their noses glide against each other's skin. Lydia's nose slowly caressed its way up from the hollow of his neck to his jaw, then followed its outline to find his chin and slowly glided across his cheek to his ear, waiting for Stiles's nose to leave the top of her head. Lydia felt it against her temple, her ear until it finally joined hers.

Stiles opened his eyes and lost himself in Lydia's which were wide open, wet from the cold and unshed tears, and motionless in the middle of strands of her hair that were ruffled by the icy wind.

Around them, people kept shoving past them, gathering on the balcony to scream louder, to reach more people with their unrestrained joy, to reach further away. Always further and further away.

In the middle of the storm, like nucleuses of atoms trying to merge, Stiles and Lydia were fighting against this tide. Stiles barely felt the elbows that kept being shoved into his ribs every time the person next to him was leaning over the rail. He only felt the soft pressure of Lydia's hands on his hips, her thighs against his and the tip of her shoes against his soles. As if she was trying to melt into every part of him to replace each particle of darkness with her luminous presence. It was like letting himself get carried away by endless waves of warmth. It felt like he would never be able to stop smiling, like his heart would never stop beating for her, for the sky, for the Sun, for the Earth, for every flower, and each soul on this planet. It felt like this year was opening a door to a world where they would never part, where their souls would finally find a way to be one, like they probably once were.

Time was irrelevant in their bubble. There were no sounds, nothing else but them. Outside, the crowd of people eventually dissipated, the last ones taking the notes of high-pitched laughter with them and giving Stiles and Lydia back a silence that wrapped them in a light veil of snow.

"Happy new year," Lydia murmured while leaning to drop a kiss on Stiles's frozen lips.

He smiled, wishing her a happy new year in the same tone of voice, too afraid to draw the world's attention on them again if he spoke louder. Stiles laid his lips on hers and let them slowly glide, daring time to slow down to match their own rhythm.

They stayed in each other's arms a little while, Stiles focusing on Lydia's chest movements to follow her breathing. It helped him keep his mind grounded, fearing that it would lose itself in the street's noise below, or in the guilt that was still lurking somewhere inside of him. He knew it was still there.

Because he had learned that ignoring problems doesn't make them go away.

Because a fox could turn the Earth into a magical place near the North Pole and into a graveyard everywhere else.

He was scared, but if he wanted to offer Lydia the North Pole, he had to let go, look the fox in the eyes, and turn it into something else. Anything else.

The heavy beating of his heart resonated in his ears, slowly isolating him from any other sensation, but Lydia. Scott's desperate tone at the end of his message was coming back to haunt him, and there was nothing he could do to clear it from his mind. Scott's words, his pleas for forgiveness, would not relinquish, when in all truth, Stiles believed that he should be the one to apologize. But most of all, the dreadful idea that Scott had stayed _over there,_ for all those years, while he selfishly had done everything he could to stay away from Beacon Hills. He had even managed to find happiness.

Stiles also remembered their last conversation. Most of the time, he was able to convince himself that by being so aggressive, he had given Scott a reason to move on from him, to leave that town. But now he couldn't believe it. Not anymore. Not after hearing Scott's message.

After Stiles had left, Scott had kept calling him, texting him, begging him to come back, saying they would start over anywhere he wanted, anywhere far away from Beacon Hills and the supernatural. Move out, forget, and start anew… Stiles always changed the subject, always finding a way to talk about meaningless things instead.

That pattern had lasted an entire year.

Until one day.

Stiles had called Scott back and those monstrous words, fogged with sadness and anger, had left his mouth. _"This is all your fault… Sometimes, I think… I think it would have been better if we never met."_

He had hung up, without waiting for an answer. Scott had never called again.

After a while, the occasional birthday texts started.

Stiles had never told Lydia. How could he? The mere thought of the estrangement between himself and Scott made him want to vomit.

The unexpected sound of the bay window opening broke him from his thoughts. He looked up and with an empty stare watched as two girls put their untouched cake plates on the side of the small table to bring the ashtray closer to them. It clanged against the iron, and one of them laughed. Then Stiles blinked, fully awake to his surroundings. He had to run a hand over his face to realize that Lydia wasn't in his arms anymore.

He turned around, wincing as his frozen joints were put in motion after so much time spent still, and all his blood came rushing back into his muscles. Panic overwhelmed him. She wasn't there. The balcony wasn't big, but he looked around a second time, not noticing that the two girls were staring at him.

Panic turned into a strong anxiety that cut his breath as he vaguely remembered Lydia saying she needed to go to the bathroom. How long had it been?

He reached for the handle of the window when he turned around to stare at the girls, "Have you seen Lydia?"

They looked at him, seeming to be taken aback. With a quick wave of the hand, he mumbled to them to forget it and stepped inside. The warmth mixed with a sickening scent of sweat and alcohol was so thick it almost punched the air out of his lungs. But his brain didn't register it.

He was moving towards the bathroom, Lydia's name taking up all the space inside of him. A hand on his arm made him stop, and for a second, he thought his heart was about to burst out of relief for finding Lydia. But it was Tobias, one of their hosts.

"Stiles! I'm glad you're still here. I thought you had left."

"Why?" His eyes must have conveyed his distress because Tobias came closer to him and squeezed his forearms.

He stammered a little before answering, which did nothing to soothe the panic inside of Stiles that was starting to present him with the most catastrophic scenarios.

"I saw your girlfriend leaving about a half hour ago."


	19. In your eyes (part II)

"I saw your girlfriend leaving about a half hour ago."

"Leave?" Stiles felt his own eyes widen and the tugging around his heart begging him to run outside as fast as he could to find her. "Where? Where did she go?"

Tobias shrugged, looking apologetic. "She… She didn't say anything. She didn't even answer me when I asked her if she was leaving. She looked… high, honestly. I'm sorry, I should have stopped her…"

At that moment, Stiles was sure his heart stopped beating. He ran his hands over his coat to find his phone but didn't find it. Lydia had it.

In his head, all those stories about people disappearing after going out to buy cigarettes came rushing to haunt him. What if she never came back? What if it he had already seen her for the last time? Tobias kept talking, but Stiles wasn't paying him any attention. He knew Lydia couldn't have walked back to their apartment, not like this. Something had happened. How would he find her in a city that was as big as New York? Even from inside the apartment, he could hear the noise of the bustling streets and firecrackers being lit up from every corner.

His vision was starting to blur as he imagined all the awful possibilities. Maybe the best thing to do was to go directly to the police to report a missing person? But he knew that was absurd. Not tonight, not with so many drunk people in the streets, not after less than an hour. His heart was beating too strong, sending too much oxygen to his brain, and he was already picturing himself fainting when two strong arms pulled him up and sat him down on a chair. The police wouldn't be able to do anything before a long time, but it was urgent, he knew that. Lydia wasn't _high_. Deep down, Stiles knew exactly what was happening. The same thing that happened in Spain when she had left in the middle of the night to go to the train station. And the same thing that happened before they found Peter's corpse. But why?

The thought of her facing that kind of trauma alone was making his muscles and brain rebel against the people around him trying to keep him still. He needed to find her. But there was another voice in his head, something vicious that told him guilt had finally caught up with him and that he had become as toxic for Lydia as Peter once was. Maybe in the middle of his melt down on the balcony, she had let her tether to Allison guide her towards what was best for her. Away from him. She was better off without him. He had always known that. Everyone was better off without him, Scott too. All he needed to do was to disappear again, without leaving anything behind this time, no phone, no identity, nothing.

Around him, he knew people were talking, trying to get his attention, but he couldn't focus on anything. The warmth and love he had felt at midnight had sought refuge deep inside of his heart as a freezing cold was slowly spreading all around it. The same despair he had allowed inside of him before leaving Beacon Hills was taking hold of its former residence inside his body and mind. With a cynical crooked smile, Stiles realized how easy it was to take back old habits, even after working so hard to erase them.

He remembered the weeks he spent, in an abandoned building invaded by weeds and ivy, right before making the decision to leave Beacon Hills for good. Those days were a blur of minutes and hours spent lost in his own mind, silently wandering empty hallways and staring at the sky through holes in the collapsed walls and roof. Even today, he still didn't know what exactly he had been looking for in that place. A hiding spot away from the world? Away from himself? Or, maybe just a sign. Anything to help him decide what to do. In the silence and constant hunger, it had been the place where he had fought his last battle against himself, against the fox… And had lost.

There was a room on the garden level where he had spent most of his nights. It was the only place he could feel his lungs expending more easily. He had called it the lilac room because one tiny lilac bush was growing in a rift against the windows.

As Stiles's mind was slowly finding its way back to that room, his hands were accepting the vodka shots people handed him in a lame attempt to bring him back to reality.

But his mind was lost in the past. He saw himself falling asleep all those years ago next to that lilac bush, crying even after his body had been drained from all its water, until tiredness would hush his brain and give his mind a moment of recess before the Sun would rise again.

The day he decided to leave was the day after he had discovered that love wasn't enough to nurture things, and it wasn't enough to make people stay either. Insects had infected his lilac plant, and despite his efforts to save every little flower he could, it had died overnight. Stiles held the remaining branches against his heart when he fell asleep, letting the lost scent carry him towards imaginary and faraway lands. Lands where the only ghosts would be those he and Lydia would leave behind, after hours spent wandering through unknown cities with nothing but smiles on their faces. By morning, the flowers had withered too: proof that something so beautiful and delicate needed more than his love.

He left Beacon Hills because he had to find more than his love to offer to Scott, to Lydia, to all the people he had let down and who weren't there anymore. Maybe he hadn't found it yet. Maybe what he had become still wasn't _enough_.

His lips moved to form those words, to see if their taste on his tongue would make him feel the same solace they had made him feel all those years ago. But they didn't. The thought that he only had to disappear to prove himself worthy and fix the damage he had done wasn't reaching him as deep as it used too. It almost rang hollow to his ears. Like a false pretext.

There was something else hurting him deeper than any of those thoughts. A feeling that wasn't his own, but that he somehow attributed to Lydia. She was lost, lost in her own thoughts and feelings, lost in the streets and she was scared.

Instantly, he felt a tugging behind his ribs, and he knew she had been drawn to something, someplace that lightened her heart. A brief vision of her kneeling in front of his sleeping figure struck him. She took the withered lilac branch from his hands to bury it in the ground and laid her lips over his eyebrows. Then, she lied down beside him, linking their fingers together and nuzzled closer to the crook of his neck. Stiles could feel the softness of her hair against his cheek and the sensation felt so _real_ that his pulse started pounding faster. Together, they faced the northern night sky illuminated by veils of pink lights, a campfire's smoke tickling their nostrils. A fox was watching them, a fox surrounded by a yellow halo that dissipated the shadows in Stiles's brain and somehow coaxed his love out of his heart, its warmth waking up his entire body.

And all of a sudden, the bloodthirsty fox in his mind appeared to him in another shape... A younger, broken version of himself, kneeling in a graveyard and screaming for help at the top of his lungs.

Stiles blinked his tears away, and it was all gone. He blinked a few more times to readjust his vision and give himself some time to understand the meaning behind all of this.

The fox was long gone – it was dead. Maybe all he needed was the same thing Scott desperately needed.

Forgiveness.

He needed to forgive himself… And he would.

For Lydia and for Scott.

For his father and for his mother.

But mostly for himself.

He put the vodka shot he was about to drink back on the table and vaguely registered his attempt to shape thoughts into actual words to give them enough strength to dissipate the last veils of fog inside of his soul.

It had been a pretext. Guilt, revenge… All of this had been an excuse to fly far away from Beacon Hills. He had just wanted to escape. His despair would have fed on any reason his mourning heart would have provided…and thrived on it.

At this realization, he felt something burst inside of him, something warming him up in an explosion that dismissed the alcohol vapors from his mind, the stink of his guilt, and loosened the frozen fingers his anxiety had clenched around his heart. The energy spread inside of him in a matter of seconds, creating a path of glowing particles that guided him forward.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Stiles stood up and thanked the people around him before following the direction his own heart seemed to want to show him. Outside, he had to push some people out of his way and avoid firecrackers and other projectiles that were spiraling through the air. As he walked, he could feel his heart beating faster and faster. He knew where he was heading. He didn't know how he knew, but for the first time in his life, Stiles could feel some kind of internal compass that would lead him in a positive direction. It was like a tugging around his heart, but it was more than that, a little like what guided the sunlight towards the Earth. The Sun didn't need to know where the Earth was to find its way to her, he just knew his light would always reach her.

Stiles kept following that same instinct, visualizing something bright and warm emanating from his heart and propelling him forward, small magnetic particles leading him towards a place he had somehow always known was there.

His steps were drawing him away from the bustle, closer to a small botanical garden on a hill. As his ears adjusted to the lack of constant noise, he kept walking, relishing in the sounds that surrounded him. His shoes were sinking into the thick white blanket, occasional cats jumping from roof to roof, hastening the fall of the accumulated snow that would splash against the ground with wet and muffles noises. It wasn't snowing anymore, and Stiles lifted his head toward the sky, letting the scent of the cold spread through him, soothe him.

He stopped on an empty street. The silence and stillness were only disrupted for a few second by the rusty squeaking of shutters being closed. Serenity settled inside of Stiles, enticing him to look up.

On his left, on the second floor of a ruined building, Lydia was sitting on the edge of a great wooden beam, her feet dangling against the outside wall and her two hands gripping the wood. Stiles felt his blood run cold. But as he spotted a tiny smile on her lips, he let a relieved laugh escape his breath that rose up to cradle her figure. He slowly moved closer, and as if they had always planned on meeting at that time and place, she lowered her gaze and smiled at him.

They stared at each other for a while, smiling. Stiles let the sounds of joy and fireworks fade away in the distance, focusing on the beautiful colors his energy created when it left his body, drawn by Lydia's steady presence.

He moved closer to her and extended his hand towards her. "Would you throw me the keys, princess?"

His voice was soft and low, he could feel it tickling his throat, but she still heard him. She nibbled at her lips, and her laugh gracefully glided down to him amongst the glowing particles that suspended in the breath they shared. Her laugh merged with his smile, which broadened on his lips.

"It's open, love," she answered on the same tone of voice, pointing with her chin at the empty door frame on his left.

Stiles kept smiling, lowering his hand into his coat pocket. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, and when he moved towards the frame door, he smiled even wider as he watched her follow him with her eyes.

"Are you coming down, or do you want me to climb up?"

She pursed her lips, making Stiles laugh because he was almost certain he knew what she was about to say.

"I'm kind of stuck actually so…"

"This is a first for me, you know… I'm more familiar with rescuing cats from trees than lost goddesses from abandoned buildings."

He saw her raise an eyebrow, "You've rescued cats?"

The sound of two animals fighting in the night broke the silence. It startled him, and he turned around before looking back at her. "Once. The bastard scratched me…" He lifted a hand to point at his right temple and offered her his best crooked smile. "Do you promise to not scratch me?"

She smiled. "I won't, unless you ask."

"I like the way you think," he answered with a laugh in his voice.

"I know."

They silently smiled at each other for a while longer, and with a last glance, Stiles stepped inside the building. He climbed the two flights of stairs that were miraculously still intact and reached the room where Lydia was. There was a hole in the wooden floor, and the beams for the first-floor ceiling were the only thing keeping the edge, where Lydia was sitting, connected to where he was. He swore underneath his breath and carefully tried to keep his balance as he walked along the wider one.

"You can step on those planks, they're solid," Lydia pointed beside her as he got closer.

He sat down next to her, heaving a sigh and let his legs dangle next to hers. From the top of his shoes, he gave a nudge to her boots. As she turned to look at him, he laid his hand over hers and caressed her skin with his thumb. He felt her hand relax and kissed her forehead.

"How did you get up here?"

She tangled her fingers with his and shrugged. "I don't really know," her voice broke as she looked down.

Stiles used his other hand to lift her chin and redirect her stare on him. "Just keep your eyes up, look at me or look at the horizon. You'll be fine." He examined the beam they were sitting on and the remains of the wooden floor behind them. "It looks strong enough to support us if we don't start jumping on it… We should avoid the part where there's ivy though."

Lydia raised an eyebrow, and Stiles started to explain how ivy only grew on diseased wood, but that he wasn't sure if it was applicable to all woods and not just trees. Lydia eventually cut him off when he started rambling about tree diseases by squeezing his hand. As he stopped, he realized how much his anxiety was still constricting his lungs.

"Thanks," he let out in a breath when Lydia laid her head on his shoulder. "You scared me," he resumed very low. "Why did you leave?"

She straightened up to slowly kiss his cheek and whispered against his skin, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Then, she kept kissing his cheek in a series of pecks until Stiles turned to look at her and kiss her lips, sighing as he felt her return the affection. "I went to the bathroom and then I came here because I thought this was where you were," she resumed against his lips before returning her head to his shoulder.

"Do you know this place?"

"No… Do you?" He shook his head, and Lydia continued. "I could see you…lying down, asleep on the floor. I looked everywhere, and I found you under a window holding a branch of lilacs against your chest. You couldn't see me, and then, it was all gone."

Stiles swallowed thickly. "I uh… I lived in a place like that for a few weeks before leaving Beacon Hills."

"Really?"

He nodded, and as she straightened up to listen to him, he told her everything about it, about how helpless he was after the foster home, about the abandoned building in Beacon Hills, about the kids who used to play there and who started to get scared of him. He also told her about his lilac bush.

Lydia didn't say anything when Stiles stopped talking, simply applying more pressure on his hand. He could feel her trying to soothe him and it was working. Staring at the horizon and feeling his love spreading beyond the limits of his body, he realized that not only was it easy to revert to old habits, they were also easier and easier to suppress.

"Thanks," he whispered with a kiss on her temple. There were a lot more words he could have used, but after all the times things like this happened between them, he knew they weren't as meaningful as the feelings they could share. So, he let his love for her speak for him, and Lydia eventually relaxed.

"So," she cleared her throat after a little while. "I saw a memory of you?"

She looked at him, and he shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me actually. That memory came back to me before I came looking for you, maybe I somehow shared it with you? You know… I woke up the other day and I was sure I had seen you in a memory I dreamt about." Stiles paused to try to remember it, but the closer he got to seeing it, the more it drifted away. He eventually turned to look at Lydia and saw her trying to suppress a smile, her stare lost in the distance. "You know what I mean, don't you?"

Her answer didn't come right away, she was pondering her words. When she spoke, she sounded like she was confessing a shameful secret.

"Remember after we found Peter? You told me you thought we were connected, tethered, that maybe I could feel what you felt."

Stiles smiled and nodded. It was just a theory back then, but it was a given for him today. His smile seemed to relax her slightly.

"I think it has something to do with that," she continued.

There was something in the way she pursed her lips, trying to advert her eyes that made Stiles believe there was more to it, that she was hesitant to tell him what was going on. He gave her knee a nudge and when she met his stare, he smiled at her again.

"Do you think or are you sure?" he questioned. She opened her mouth to answer, but he suddenly remembered something. "Does it have something to do with your theory? That thing you wanted to try without telling me?"

At those words, Lydia blushed. "I uh… I think so…"

"Lydia Martin, what kind of magic did you make with your beautiful mind?" He was in awe, there wasn't any word that could more accurately describe the look of adoration on his face or the incomprehensible love he felt.

She stifled a laugh when she looked at him, but her voice was less tentative, and she straightened her shoulders. "Well… I didn't start right after finding Peter, I needed some time to understand how it could work, to analyze all the different ways I could be connected to the environment and to you. But every night since September, I've been trying to fall asleep focusing on our connection…hoping that if I could help your mind find its most positive and beautiful places, I could help you be more at peace with your past in general. I thought that maybe, you…you'd be able to forgive yourself eventually."

Stiles quietly listened to her. Somehow, he already knew it. He had _sensed_ her so many times at night or in the morning that her admission didn't surprise him. As silence stretched, he felt his love for Lydia grow even bigger inside of him, almost making him forget about the night's events. He was so proud of her that, if they weren't sitting on the edge of an almost rotten beam, he would have taken her in his arms and cried.

His silence was making her nervous. He could feel it. But as words still escaped him, he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"Aren't you mad at me?"

"Mad?" Stiles encircled her shoulders. "How could I be? You're wonderful. I love you." They smiled at each other. Lydia seemed to scan his eyes, looking for a sign that would indicate the opposite, but as she didn't find any, she heaved a silent sigh and laid her head on his shoulder. "This is probably the most selfless thing anyone has ever done for me," he continued softly. "Is… Is it why we're so… connected? Because in a way, you've been straightening our tether?"

"I don't know, but it would make sense, don't you think?"

"Yeah… You know…sometimes…I can feel you too."

She nuzzled closer to him, and Stiles pressed her tighter against him. "Is that how you found me earlier? Did you _sense_ I was here?"

"I think so, yes. It was…" He let out a breathy laugh, "Will it sound cheesy if I tell you I followed my heart? Because I literally followed my heart…"

Lydia laughed silently and lifted her head to kiss the skin under his jaw. "I love you."

Stiles kissed her skull and stayed there, with his mouth and nose buried in her lilac-perfumed hair.

Something around them shifted, and for a few seconds, Stiles felt like his very soul was expanding. He couldn't explain it, but for a few heartbeats, everything felt right, even more than usual. He was whole. Lydia must have felt the same because she had held her breath and was now breathing faster, just like him.

"I think a part of me already knew," Stiles resumed. "Sometimes, like the other day, I wake up and I know… _something_ happened during the night. I can't explain it, and I never know what exactly, but I have those…"

"Lingering feelings?" she finished for him.

"Yeah."

"Me too. I never remember what happened, but I know something did. I even wonder if…if I was able to reach Scott through you somehow."

A laugh escaped Stiles's breath. "Wouldn't surprise me. You're incredible."

He wished they could stay in that blissful state a while longer, share a little more of that comforting love that built worlds of peace around them, but Scott's mention brought him back to reality and without realizing it, his grasp around Lydia was already loosening.

"Stiles," she took his hand and cupped it inside hers to bring it to her lips and kiss it. "Talk to me. I know what's troubling you, but I need you to tell me."

He lifted his head towards the Moon. "I know, but I'm… I'm scared…"

"Scared of what?"

He lowered his gaze and stared at their feet dangling above the ground. Lydia had crossed her ankles and was giving him a nudge from the tip of her boots. Without knowing why, that vision made him smile and unclenched the hand around his chest. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

"Of facing all of this…" He lowered his eyes again and resumed in a soft voice. "There are things I did, things I said that I'm not proud of. I'm not proud of the person I was before I met you. I hate him. He made… _I_ have made all the wrong decisions and yet, I was _so_ sure I was right. _I_ made Scott believe it was all his fault, and he stayed there because of me. What if facing all of this only makes everything come back? What if I just _can't_ face it?" Silence fell on them for a little while. The only thing he could feel was Lydia's head on his shoulder and her love trying to fight against the shadows lurking everywhere around them. "You… You have to promise me something, Lyds." They looked at each other and she was already shaking her head. "No, listen, you have to leave me…if I ever—"

She cut him off, laying one finger over his mouth. When she took it away, her voice was calm.

"I won't leave you. I told you that once, and I'll say it again. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. Whatever happens, I won't leave you. _This_ is the part where I stick even closer to you than ever, because this is important, and there's no way I'm letting you face any of it alone."

"But what if I – "

" _If_ something happens, and you're not yourself anymore, I'll find a way to get to you, and I'll bring you back. Whatever the darkness is, I'll face it with you. I'll fight on your side. If you're being irrational and angry at everyone and everything for no reason, I'll be irrational and angry too. We'll fight until you are free of all your anger. If you can't figure out a way to communicate with your family after all those years, I'll help you find a way, even if it means going hours and hours without sleeping. If you can't stop crying, if you can't properly think without feeling guilt gnawing at your heart and only find solace in alcohol," she stared at him with a knowing look and a thin smile that both embarrassed him and soothed him. He averted his eyes to stare at their feet again. "I'll drink as much as you and I'll rub your back and kiss your beautiful head while you cry in my arms, until we're both completely dehydrated and empty. Stiles," her soft voice made him lift his head. "How many storms have we fought together? This one isn't worse than the one we faced after finding Peter… Or in Poland, after we – "

She suddenly blushed, and Stiles couldn't help a laugh from escaping his lips.

"Had that first wonderful night together and then had desperate sex for an entire month after?" he offered in a tone that he wished was light but contained too much sadness.

"Yeah…" she nibbled at her lips. "But we overcame all of it. We've already faced darkness together, and we'll face this one too. I promise. Together." Her hands around his startled him, and he made eye contact with her. She had a tentative smile that he tried to reproduce. "We're pretty good together, aren't we?"

He nodded and kissed her lips. "We're _awesome_ together." He paused for a few seconds, knowing exactly what she would think about his next words. "Look, I know what you're going to say, but I need to say this… If, for any reason, you decide to leave, I'll understand and I'll respect your decision, okay?"

Lydia didn't answer right away and inhaled deeply. "Alright. If we follow that logic, it also means that if I stay, it will be because I want to, and you'll have to respect that too… Do we have a deal?"

"Alright."

They smiled at each other in silence. Stiles's chest felt less heavy, but he knew there was still a lot he needed to say. As he didn't know where to start, he chose the more obvious – the part Lydia had already guessed. "I'm… I'm sorry about the alcohol… I was completely lost. I didn't know where you were, and people kept passing me shots to keep me awake. I shouldn't have… It was stupid. I guess old habits die hard, right?" A weak laugh escaped his lips, and he didn't dare look into her eyes. He had never really talked about all of this with Lydia, but after hearing all the stories he had told her about his past, he knew she had understood alcohol had kept him company a little too much. His anxiety constricted his chest again when her soft fingers took hold of his hands and helped his lungs swell with hope and understanding.

"New habits are easy to form too. Don't be too hard on yourself. You know… I can't remember my life before you, and I surely don't understand it. But when you think about it, it wasn't such a long time ago that you made me believe you were a French man offering me tissues…" It coaxed a smile out of him.

"What, you didn't like my accent?"

"Well… It could have been better…" They smiled, and for the hundredth time, Stiles marveled at Lydia's ability to soothe him so easily. "What I mean is that even if it feels like a lifetime ago, it wasn't _that_ long. You have to give yourself time to change, or those changes won't take roots inside of you. You need to make them yours. And I'd say you're pretty good at it. Besides… I'm to blame too for what happened earlier…" Her voice has turned distant and her eyes were so close to his he could see her green irises suddenly shine a little too much, as if she was trying to hold back a few tears, and it broke his heart. She lifted one of her hands and ran it tenderly along his cheek. "I really scared you, didn't I?" Her voice broke and Stiles slowly nodded, closing his eyes to get rid of the accumulated wetness in them. He took her hand and kissed her palm. "I'm sorry, Stiles, I'm so sorry…"

In an instant, she was in his arms, her head lying against his chest and their hands tangled upon his heart.

"It's alright now, Lyds. I just…" Without even having to think about it, Stiles let out the words he was holding back out of guilt. "I know flying back to Beacon Hills is the right thing to do, but I'm so scared to do it. I'm not even sure I want to…"

Lydia didn't move, but just like before, when he was looking for her, he could feel her steady presence welcoming everything he had to give her. So, he continued and told her about his last conversation with Scott, about his guilt, about how it made him feel to know that Scott had stayed there over the years. He told her everything.

Meanwhile, the view from above the city was lit by fireworks; reflections on the horizon a mix of green, yellow, red, and blue. The loud noises echoed everywhere in the silence, without any rhythm.

Then, Lydia's constricted voice echoed his own, and she told him about her own fears. She told him she only had bad memories of Beacon Hills, whether they concerned her family, high school, or Peter. Even though her scar had since become a simple thin white line on her skin, even though Peter was now rotting below the ground, she couldn't help but be scared that something, _anything_ could happen.

They talked for a while like that, going back and forth between expressing everything that was still weighing on their hearts and trying to reassure each other. Stiles knew they were only repeating the same things over and over again, but it was enough for now. For now, they just needed to make the decision and remember that it would all be different for one good and simple reason: they would have each other.

But even after they stopped talking, Stiles could feel there was still something Lydia was hesitant to say. He glided his hand behind her and faintly caressed her back, drawing circles over her coat until he reached her waist and pulled her against him. Lydia let her body sag and took his hand in hers, fidgeting with his fingers. " _Uncle Stiles_ has a nice ring to it…"

"Yeah?" Without seeing her face, he could tell she was pursing her lips, still hesitant. So, he waited until she resumed.

"Is uncle Stiles going to teach his nephew or niece how to play… I don't know... baseball?"

He let out a breathy laugh at the image of him teaching a kid how to play any kind of sport. "I don't really play baseball. I'd have time to learn though before—" He suddenly stopped, understanding what was troubling her. "Lydia," he let one of his fingers caress her chin, coaxing her to look at him. When he met her wet stare, he shook his head. "I don't plan on staying there, do you?"

"I really don't want to, Stiles. It's selfish maybe, but I don't want to…" she tugged at her lips, visibly feeling guilty about it. Stiles kissed her and relaxed as he felt her tears wetting his cheeks, she needed to let go.

"I don't to want either."

"But what if Scott asks you to stay with him somewhere? What if you two find the perfect houses or apartments for all of us? Don't you miss having a family?"

"You're my family, Lyds." Those words escaped his lips so easily that he couldn't stop the smile on his lips. He wiped off her cheeks with the tip of his thumb. As he spoke, he could feel his resolve getting stronger inside of him, taking roots and soothing him. "I need to say a proper good-bye. We all need to forget the past and start a new life. We all need forgiveness. Scott, Melissa, Deaton… they are my roots, I want them to know that and I want them to meet you." They smiled at each other in silence. "They're gonna love you so much… I'm sure that's what Scott wants too. He wants me to meet the mother of his child. He wants _us_ , he wants his family back, whatever its shape."

Stiles had no idea where those words were coming from, but they were filled with so much hope that he had to stop for a moment to admire them. He didn't have to talk to Scott to know that was what he wanted: the knowledge that however far apart they were from each other, they would always be a family. All of a sudden, a series of images flooded his mind – late flights with Lydia and spending the holidays with Scott no matter where they chose to live, Lydia and himself doing their best to have a comfortable home for them when they would come to visit, photos and postcards sent, regular texts or phone calls…

Joy and excitement were overwhelming him, and when he looked at Lydia, he could see those emotions reflecting in her eyes and in her smile.

He kissed her temple and continued. "When we're done there, you and me, we'll both have a family, and we'll move on. This time, we won't escape, we'll make a choice. I don't know what that will be, but we'll do it together and it won't be out of fear – I know that for sure. And it will change everything."

She nodded and nuzzled against him. Stiles felt her quiver a little, so he pulled her even closer to him.

"I love you, Stiles. I love you so much."

Her hands grasped his arms tightly, and Stiles kissed her skull.

"I love you too, Lydia."

"It's decided then? We're really flying back to that _Hellmouth_?"

A shiver ran down his spine at those words, but Lydia's body against him was warming him, helping him fight the cold. He pulled her closer. "I guess so. Yes."

Lydia closed her eyes, feeling Stiles's presence all around her, his energy and love radiating from him and encompassing her. She knew that sometimes he thought himself incapable of doing the same things she did when she soothed him with gentle caresses. But in this moment, as she felt his lips gliding across her hair and his thumb drawing circles on her waist, she knew he was wrong.

She felt herself drift off and against her closed eyelids, the fireworks slowly turned from blurry luminous flashes to colorful shapes.

A red flower exploded in the sky, and the light lasted a little longer than usual, printed on her retinas…until she could make out the shape of a red fox. She focused a little more and realized she was facing a wide expanse of ice and mountains. The fox was running over the frozen lake, his red coat barely visible against the night. The vision shifted a little when a green flower exploded in the sky. Concentrating her attention on the landscape, she could see its reflections coloring the sky against her eyelids in flickering northern lights.

As time went by and fireworks kept bringing colors to her vision, Lydia was able to distinguish more and more details. The sky was now constantly illuminated with a veil that steadily went from green, to yellow, to blue and pink. Lydia was seated on grass, surrounded by snow with leftovers from a campfire in front of her, its smoke still in the air and tickling her nostrils.

It felt like she was taken back years ago, back when she had seen that pink dot in the Artic sky on her computer screen. But she wasn't alone, Stiles was there too, his withering soul surrounded by red foxes and lilacs. She saw him use all of the inner strength, which originated from his love, revive his heart, feeding it drops of hope that he seemed to take directly from the lights in the northern sky. She heard him say her name, and it resonated through her entire body, making her smile. His eyes smiled too, and inside of them…the northern lights reflected in millions of colors.

 _"_ _It's not Hell"_ , she heard him murmur in a voice she barely recognized.

There was a man somewhere who had no idea what Stiles was talking about, a man who couldn't see what Stiles was seeing. Lydia knew why. She knew Stiles's love was the reason for everything, and she knew that somehow all those years ago, as the Sun had kissed the Earth in the polar sky, it had helped their souls to unite.

The red artic fox was there, watching them, watching the bundle of tangled energy they had become. He raised his muzzle to the Moon as it slowly glided down the sky to meet him. When they touched, a yellow halo surrounded them, and they vanished without a sound, leaving Stiles and Lydia alone together in the frozen landscape.

They were one. Lydia could feel it in the thoughts that occupied her head, _Stiles's_ thoughts. Thoughts about an evil fox and white magic, about guilt transformed into an instinct to protect, filled with joy, love, gratitude, and forgiveness. All those sensations emanating from Stiles and which she had learned to welcome. She could feel it in the pressure his fingers were applying against her hip, tensing and relaxing as he let himself get overcome by everything she could give him.

A violent draft forced Lydia to open her eyes to keep from falling off the edge, and the vision disappeared. For a second, she feared that she and Stiles would have lost the connection along with the vision, but she turned her stare to him and heaved a relieved sigh. It was all there. She just had to reach between them to touch that energy field, that glowing path of particles surrounding Stiles, the one he had followed to find her.

Both breathless, they kept looking at each other, feeling a sensation of fullness bring them even closer. In the distance, the fireworks kept filling the sky with colors and explosions that reflected in pink and green flashing veils in Stiles's eyes. Together, they leaned in, and kissed eagerly. Lydia could feel Stiles's fingers on her hip trying to make their way through her layers of clothes until they finally found her bare skin. She moaned in his mouth when he applied more pressure on the side of her waist to bring her closer to him. She let her tongue fill his mouth, and it was his turn to respond in a low groan as she trailed her hand down his torso under his coat. As she felt herself losing her balance, she leaned back and relished in the feeling of Stiles's strong and steady arm around her waist.

She could have said so many things in that moment, but none made it to her lips. There was no need for words.

"I've been there," he said as he titled his head slightly, making the northern lights in his eyes flicker.

"Where is it?"

"It's in Norway, near the Barents Sea. I'll take you there after Beacon Hills if you want. We could find a small house with a sauna cabin near the sea."

He spoke in a raspy voice. The one he had when he just woke up, or after he collapsed exhausted in her arms, their sweaty naked bodies still tangled in a delicious embrace. The voice Lydia liked so much and that sent shivers running all over her body.

"I'd love to," she answered in a whisper, not even realizing that she kept getting drawn to his lips.

He caught hers in his mouth and kissed her slowly before resuming. "Maybe we could spend our days, just the two of us, naked in the sauna… only go out at night, wrapped up against each other by a campfire, and wait until we see the northern lights."

Lydia let out a long sigh when he took her lips back between his and kissed her with an open mouth.

"I'd love to," she repeated. She was panting and it made Stiles smile. He cupped her cheek, grazing her skin from the top of his fingers until he reached her lips.

"I wish we were already there. I wish we could meet Scott here tomorrow and start over. All three of us," he said softly, as if it was a secret that no one but Lydia was allowed to hear.

"I know… But I promise you, it's gonna be alright." There was a world of differences between her words and what her body conveyed, Stiles was aware of that, and it tightened his chest.

He wanted to express his gratitude, tell her how unworthy of her he was, that she didn't need to be this strong, that she could let him take care of her. But her eyes shone too brightly, and she was faintly shaking her head. So, Stiles said the only thing that mattered. "Thank you."

A smile crossed Lydia's face and she relaxed, he felt it in his bones. She needed this, she needed him to let her do those things for him.

They stayed quiet for a while, staring at the fireworks ahead of them, tiredness slowly taking hold of them.

Then, it was over, and silence swallowed them whole again. Lydia's ears were still buzzing from the noises, and she could feel Stiles everywhere around her and inside her. She let herself get engulfed by all those feelings that were slowly making her forget her anxiety. It would come back, she wasn't fooling herself, but for now, she knew she had a very good reason to fly back. She would do it for him. She would do it for Stiles. Because he still had something inside of him, some guilt he needed to exorcise.

And _for Stiles_ , she would burn a thousand times in Hell if it meant being able to see what his real smile looked like.

Without a sound, they stood up. Stiles first, keeping his hands low so Lydia could grab them to stand up. He led her slowly and calmly to the other side of the beam, and when they arrived at the stairs, Lydia gave his forehead a kiss, thanking him softly.

Hand in hand, they went down the steps in silence. They had almost reached the exit when Stiles turned around, feeling something drawing him behind Lydia's shoulder. He felt his features harden, and Lydia followed his gaze towards a corridor with walls that were swallowed by ivy and brambles, making it disappear into the garden.

Suddenly, the air shifted around them, and Lydia felt shivers running down her spine. Fear took hold of her, and her grasp on Stiles's hand clenched tighter.

"Is that here?" he asked her, unable to control the quiver in his voice. He could have sworn it was the place he had found refuge in Beacon Hills.

Lydia remained quiet for a few seconds. Something in Stiles's behavior was chilling her to the bones. She had no idea what she had done when she had first come here. She only remembered waking up perched on that beam. She eventually shrugged. "I don't know… It looks like it."

Stiles took a step forwards, but Lydia stopped him, laying a firm hand on his forearm. "Stiles…"

When he turned around to look at her, his face was bathed in tears. "But I… Can you show me the place? Please…" He wasn't making any sense. He knew it, and he could read it in Lydia's shining eyes. He was scaring her. But he couldn't help it. There was this sinking feeling in his stomach telling him he still had time to make things right. He needed to find that broken image of himself and forgive him before flying back. "Maybe we can soothe him, help him kill it before it's too late…" His voice broke over his last words, and Lydia reacted immediately, moving closer to cup his cheeks between her hands.

"Stiles…" She brushed the wet skin under his eyes with her thumbs and shook her head. As she spoke, she could swear her tongue had already formed those words once. "It all already happened. What I saw… It was a memory. You can't alter it. You already saved him, you saved yourself, and you saved me."

"But…"

He couldn't separate reality from the past, and he caught himself counting his fingers, a habit he thought he had lost in the past year. It broke Lydia's heart, and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her sobs, using the other one to stop Stiles. Her touch startled him, and he lifted his head with a jerk, unable to focus his eyes.

She cupped his face again and called his name as softly as she could between tears, until he looked at her and crumbled crying into her arms. Lydia stumbled backwards, sitting abruptly on a flat stone behind her. Stiles had found shelter in the crook of her neck and was weeping with everything he had. Lydia felt her heart shattering into smaller pieces when she realized that there was nothing she could do except to tenderly rake her fingers through his hair and kiss his head, waiting for the storm to pass.

"What if… What if he's not dead, Lydia?" he eventually uttered.

"What if who's not dead, my love?"

Her soft voice, paired with the term of endearment, seemed to cut through the darkness in his mind, and it stopped his tears almost instantly.

"The… The fox…" He raised his head to look at her. "What if his spirit is still in Beacon Hills?"

"You mean, what if the Nogitsune possesses you again?" He nodded and Lydia was suddenly taken back to the vision they shared. "You already know the answer to that. It won't happen because you know how to change it into something else. You're not a killer, you're a guardian. You protect people." She laid her hand on his coat, over his tattoo. "You've done it for a while, following Allison's steps. And if the fox comes back, you'll know what to do. Stiles, your love… It can overcome anything."

Stiles slowly blinked to let the last of his tears roll down his cheeks and stared at Lydia, feeling the strength of her love and letting it soothe his bleeding heart. He leaned to kiss her cheek, closing his eyes and relishing in the feeling of her cool skin against his burning lips.

He didn't move for a few seconds, his lips on her cheek and his head nuzzled against her neck. Lydia could feel his breath filling his lungs deeply, calming him with each intake. A cold draft made her shiver when he leaned back, and it drew her eyes to him. Stiles was already looking at her in that way he always did, and which rendered her speechless. On his face, all the fights against his own demons were written, but in his eyes, the memory of his victories were always visible. It was a light, shining with an eternal fire. It was beautiful and Lydia couldn't help staring at it.

When he spoke, his voice was still a little hoarse.

"I know what we should do", he stated, slowly standing up and reaching for Lydia who took his hand and followed him towards the exit. They had to step over a few planks and beams between piles of rubble, but they eventually reached the former door. Outside, Stiles turned around to face the threshold in silence.

Slowly, he knelt in the snow and with twigs and debris from the walls, he drew the lines he wore in black ink on his forearm. The _self_ kanji and the arrow. Lydia felt her throat tightening when he stood up. She discreetly glided her hand in his pocket to hold his, and Stiles squeezed it as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

The solemnity of the moment wasn't lost on her, she could feel it weighing all around them, forcing their tears to silently fall down their cheeks and dampen their coats. Her thoughts reached Allison and who they were more than ten years ago, in another life, on another continent. She let her tears carve their way down her skin without trying to wipe them off. She could hear Stiles's tears stifle his breath.

"I… I don't really know what to say…" he admitted in a voice filled with tears and guilt. "Do you want to say something?"

Lydia squeezed his hand a little tighter. "I don't know… I've never been to a funeral." That statement sounded incredibly odd considering she had spent a decade feeling like she was standing on a graveyard.

She felt Stiles's lips against her skull, and she closed her eyes, listening to his voice muffled by her hair. "I think it's about peace… letting go. I didn't understand it when we…when we buried my… parents. But I think I do now."

Silence swallowed them again. Slowly, Lydia undid her braid and took the flowers in her hair one by one and laid them in the snow. With them, she joined the two ends of the kanji, forming an "8" and she used the last one to replace the arrowhead.

Then, she stood up and leaned back against Stiles.

"I promised you that we would close that wound," she said as she laid her lips against his shoulder, feeling his body quivering with silent sobs. "That kid," she resumed, "He was never the fox. You'll forgive him when you realize that. It's been a while since his anger and sadness have left you. They won't come back now."

Stiles swiftly wiped his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed, taking the time to calm his breathing before answering. "The problem… The problem is I don't know _when_ they left me. I wish I could appease him to be sure they won't come back. I want to forgive him, but I don't know how."

They let silence stretch between them again, and Lydia pressed herself closer to him, concerned that without her support, he could crumble.

"What would you tell him if he was here? What did you want to tell him earlier?"

He swallowed thickly and lifted his wet eyes to the Moon. "To wait… To be patient." Lowering his gaze, he put an arm around Lydia's shoulders. "Because it's not supposed to end like this."

When his stare met hers, Lydia felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She let them fall and shook her head. "No… No, it didn't end like this."

Completely lost in her stare, for an instant, Stiles swore he saw the reflection of northern lights in her eyes. A smile crossed his face. However hard it would be… Together, they would have the strength to clear the Beacon Hills sky from its bleeding clouds and to let the Sun caress the Earth with its light in a long kiss. It was written in her eyes.

At their feet, a gust of wind carried the twigs and flowers away, blowing them above the ground before spreading them through the snow and vegetation. Something heavy was freed from Lydia's chest, and she burst into tears in Stiles's arms. His tears immediately followed hers, and his nose naturally found his spot above her ear while his arms enveloped her quivering frame.

Stiles saw the ghosts that had haunted him for so long finally smile at him. With a last wave of their hand, they vanished amongst the stars, leaving him empty, but happy with his tether to the world of the living trembling in his arms.

He slowly lifted her chin and with a voice filled with tears, he whispered, "They're gone… They found peace."

Lydia nodded and completely broke down. For the rest of the night, they cried in each other's arms. They cried until the last ray of moonlight was replaced with the first glow of sunlight. When Lydia felt its warmth brush her hair with the same softness as Stiles's fingers, she pulled back. Their stares met, their eyes reddened by tears, cold, and tiredness.

"It's the first Sun of the year." She knew her voice still bore the remnants of her tears because she could still feel them filling her lungs. From her pocket, she took out Stiles's phone and slipped it in his hands. "Call Scott before the Sun gets to him, he needs you. Help him end his year with you." He clenched his shaking hand around it. "You'll know what to say," she continued.

"How do you know?"

"Stiles," she said, tenderly laying two fingers under his chin to make him look at her. She smiled, shaking her head. "You've got northern lights in your eyes. There's nothing you can't do."

He smiled at her, and Lydia could swear that she saw his entire figure, suddenly illuminate with an internal light, something sparkling and warm that encircled both of them before vanishing amongst the last stars in the sky.

At those words, Stiles's heart leapt in his throat. Of all the things life had brought him without him ever daring to wish for, sharing a soul with Lydia must have been his favorite. He leaned to kiss her forehead and maybe for the first time, he allowed himself to wish for more.

He was staring at his phone. The wind was ruffling his hair, and strands of Lydia's were tickling his forehead, but he couldn't feel the cold. He didn't know if it was his blood surging faster and faster inside of him, or if it was that cocoon they always seemed to build together. Maybe it was both.

With a last glance at Lydia, he let his fingers tap away on the screen, letting them do exactly what they had wanted to do for so long.

He brought the phone to his ear and waited, holding Lydia's hand tighter than ever. She heard a muffled voice coming from the phone and Stiles's face lit up.

In his eyes, she saw his love shining brighter than ever, stirring the ground underneath her feet.

Somewhere in the white frozen expense of the deep north, a fox was turning snow into pink and green veils in the sky.

In her eyes, Stiles saw her soul expanding wider than ever…until it pierced through the clouds, until it pulled the Sun closer.

Somehow, in an abandoned building, in a room that was once bare, lilacs were blooming through all the seasons.

When they hung up, Scott lifted his head and his wet stare crossed Kira's smiling eyes.

Inside of them, he saw that blazing yellow halo, the one she had stopped fearing for a while, and he crumbled into tears in her arms, finally understanding.

For the first time in years, he let the moonglow engulf him completely, and together, they melded in the night.

And the Earth exhaled.


	20. Open Wounds

**My sweet Stydia lovers, I'm sorry it took me so long to update... I hope you'll forgive me and I hope those 10k+ of Stydia snuggling up under a blanket will be worth the wait :)**

 **The chapter count is up to 24 now and I think that will be it. It wrecks my heart to near the end, but 24 is a perfect number :)  
**

 **Like always, thank you a thousand times to all of you who are still reading this after all that time. It means a lot to me, sincerely. Don't forget you can always leave a review, even just a few words can brighten up my day!  
**

 **Enjoy :)**

Amazing  
how manageable  
life  
can feel  
with only  
one blanket  
and the right  
two arms.

\- Tyler Knott Gregson -

* * *

 **Saturday, December 31th 2022, 11.40 PM - Beacon Hills, California**

Neither of them said much, but from the moment Scott answered his phone, he knew they wouldn't need a lot of words to communicate. They never did.

In Stiles's tone of voice and hesitant words, Scott recognized his own nervousness. It made him smile because he realized that his brother must have thought about this moment as much as he had.

The laughter and silence that followed the " _I'm sorry"_ they blurted out at the same time meant more than the words themselves, because they were brimming with the years spent apart. They helped Scott understand what he had started to make out a few months ago. The years hadn't been filled with agony and despair, they had been filled with the hope this day would come, filled with weeks and months longing for it. He came to understand that his love for Stiles was what had guided him through the darkest days, the darkest hours of his life for a very simple reason: Scott knew it was himself, and no one else, who had found a way to make Stiles smile for the first time after Claudia had died.

The day after Claudia passed away, Melissa suggested to Noah that Stiles could go home with Scott and herself. Stiles and Scott had played together, helped her cook, watched some cartoons and by the end of the day, Stiles had smiled, because Scott had probably done something silly.

Over the years, Scott had realized that was the day he had started to see Stiles as more than his best friend. He was his brother, the one who had been bruised by life far too young, the one he needed to protect no matter what. Because even if Scott's own dad had left a scar when he had taken off, if wasn't the same. Stiles's wound cut deeper because it was gnawing at his beautiful soul. It had arms that always invited him into its numbing embrace when he was alone and sad… Only to push him further into loneliness on the day after, always apologizing to dull the pain before rejecting him again and again. Until it felt like it was better to suffer the effects of that deceptive embrace than to face reality. As they grew up, Scott understood that it was what Noah had done for a while after Claudia died. He promised himself that he would always be there to offer his brother his own arms instead.

Scott had done it. For years, he had been there for Stiles, and now, listening to that stellar glimmer of genuine joy in his voice awoke the fledging inside of him. It was something familiar. Something that had always helped his heart expand, allowed his mind stretch enough to leave room for hope, offering that bird, which was as blue and wide as the sky, a place to alight.

When Scott's thoughts had pulled him down, Stiles had been his touchstone – this luminous presence in his memories always steering him towards a world where snowflakes were butterflies, where they could escape their fates, and where believing in true love was the bravest act of faith a sixteen-year-old could have.

And when everything around him tightened too much, there was always enough stardust left in his memories to rekindle all of that positivity. All Scott had to do was wait. Wait for the phoenix to spread its wings and light up the dark skies with millions of shimmering stars. Wait for the Sun to rise.

Hearing Stiles's voice waver when he told him he couldn't believe he was still in Beacon Hills reminded Scott why he had stayed in the first place. "I needed to make sure you would have a home to come to. You know..."

They were both sobbing when Stiles thanked him, telling him he didn't deserve him, and that he perfectly understood why he had to leave now.

The last several years had been _blurry_. When Stiles asked Scott what he had been up to with a small voice, almost as if he knew it would pain him to answer, that was the first thing Scott answered.

 _Blurry_.

As in – _I don't have any memories of college. I graduated and started working as a vet._

 _Blurry_ as in – _The last time I let myself shift, I killed five people. It was eight years ago. Ever since, I've been in a constant war against myself, so I concentrate on other things. Things that aren't…me._

Scott didn't say those things nor any of the others that kept his wounds open. He didn't say them because they had started to fade a little while ago and, on this night, they almost felt unreal, lingering at the edge of his mind like the last images of a nightmare when the dawning sky starts blushing.

So, instead, he told Stiles that his mom, Melissa, was the still most wonderful being on this planet, that despite her concern for him, she had always supported him and given him her unconditional love time and time again. He told Stiles about the animal shelter he had created inside the clinic where two young brothers would come, every two weeks, to take the dogs for a walk and play with them. The youngest one always wanted to act out scenes from movies or cartoons with them, while the oldest one preferred to pet them or play fetch. It always ended in an argument, each of them taking care of his own dog in his own corner, until they couldn't take it anymore and apologized with a hug. It would always make Scott happy for the entire rest of the week.

He also told Stiles that he had taken extra care of his Jeep, letting no one else drive it and bringing it to a mechanic on a regular basis. He had learned a thing or two and liked spending a few hours working on it, listening to the playlist that he and Stiles had made through their teenage years. It must have contained more than two hundred songs, but Scott knew almost all of them by heart.

It made Stiles laugh.

At that sound, Scott's chest tightened, and he had to take deep breaths to not burst out crying because he couldn't remember the last time he had heard Stiles laugh like that.

"I'll make a copy for you if you want," he told Stiles after an extended silence.

 _"Oh my God, yes… Please, yes!"_ They both giggled, and Scott waited, feeling that Stiles wanted to add something. _"You know… You could um… Give it to me when we fly back to Beacon Hills, we were planning on doing that… Soon."_

"Who's _we_?"

When Stiles answered, Scott's mind was flooded with memories of Stiles talking about Lydia. There wasn't a single stormy cloud in his mind anymore. His brother's _completely in love_ voice had been enough to blow each of them away.

So, Scott told him about Kira too. When he turned to look at her, he realized she was already smirking. He knew why. She was the one who convinced him to call Stiles, and something told him she had always known it would end up like that. He mouthed _thank you_ before averting his eyes and focus on Stiles again.

He told Stiles that Kira had knocked on the door of his clinic on July 8th, the first sunny day of summer that year. At the sight of her, all of his teenage years came rushing back into the small waiting room. She hadn't planned on staying, only stopping by on her way to drive back to her parents', who had moved back to New York. As Scott's apartment was too small, Melissa had offered Kira a place to stay for as long as she needed. The three of them ate together that night, and Kira never left.

Scott didn't feel it was his place to tell Stiles the rest, so he told him Kira would explain everything.

After a few weeks together, Scott had gathered enough information to understand what had happened to her. Five years earlier, a group of hunters had decimated the Skinwalkers. Kira was aided by one of them, a man named Robin. They fell in love and moved in together. After three years, desperately looking for something to help Kira control the fox inside of her, Robin had found an herb that would help her eliminate it. It took Kira two years to realize that this herb was also slowly killing her from the inside, numbing her to the point that choosing between an apple or a pear for dessert was excruciating. Nothing appealed to her anymore. She stopped taking it, and not long after, she found out she was pregnant with Robin's baby. They decided to split up, when he realized that he couldn't live with someone he considered to be a monster. When he told Kira with a strained voice that she should hide as best she could, and that he would have to hunt her if their paths crossed, she knew it was the right decision. Fate and duty had been crushing Robin, clouding his perceptions. At that moment, she wondered how she never saw it before.

"He knew who he was, a hunter. We were toxic for each other because neither of us could accept who I was. Once I knew, I had to make the decision for both of us. It saved me."

Those were the words she told Scott, the night she had decided to keep the baby.

They have been haunting Scott ever since. _He knew who he was_. Kira knew who she was now too. A kitsune, a mother to be, and so many other things…

Who was he?

Talking to Stiles reminded him that he was a son and a brother first. No matter how long he had aimlessly wandered through his life, those bonds had never withered. He wasn't an Alpha, and he wasn't a vet either. Maybe he was a little of both, a protector and a caretaker.

When he hung up a little while later with a smile crossing his face, he understood he couldn't be Scott without being all these things. His responsibility wasn't to save humankind from itself like he used to think, or to save it from himself. _He_ was his own responsibility. The rest would follow.

Stiles had seemed to understand that too.

"He's happy," Scott said to Kira, tears welling up again in his eyes. "He's coming back…" And with a smile, he crumbled into tears in her open arms.

He felt her looking up at the Moon. "You wanna try again?"

"Yeah, I want to," he answered in a heartbeat.

He knew what she was asking. On a night in September, he had felt a strength inside of him, something filled with so much love and acceptance that he had almost let himself shift. Almost…

Something had happened that night, and he felt it again. Every night.

They didn't know what it was, but whatever the case, he knew it had led him to this.

As Scott let his soul meld with the wolf inside of him, he felt Kira's gaze. The same one she had given him the first time she had seen his true face, still filled with so much awe that he wondered how he could have forgotten it. He gazed at her too, this fierce woman who had fought her entire life against everyone's prejudices and fears, including her own. All to end up here…proud of who she was, offering him a life with her, where they could establish deeper roots with a baby they would raise in acceptance and love. Because that was the only way to live.

Kira stepped towards him, kissing his lips once. "Go... Meet me tomorrow."

And he vanished into the night, already feeling lighter.

In the morning, when he woke up to the first Sun of the year, bathed in a curtain of winter light filtering through the trees and a balmy shower of pine needle breezes, Scott smiled. His soul was still bruised, he wasn't fooling himself. He knew he still had some open wounds, still bleeding and still needing nurturing.

But he had remembered something important, something he had always known, but which had been hiding somewhere in his heart.

A truth that hadn't left his mind since that night in September.

.

All open wounds were meant to be closed.

* * *

 **Monday, September 12th, 2022 - Innsbrück, Austria**

Stiles wasn't asleep. He had awakened a few minutes earlier; eyelids fluttering a few times and staying open long enough for him to understand that he was in a hospital. The realization had left a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and for a second, he thought he would throw up. He tried to straighten up against his pillow, but a dizziness forced him to close his eyes again and lie back down.

Since then, he hadn't opened them again, trying to concentrate so he could remember what had happened. He hated hospitals. He had seen too many, stayed in too many. His mouth was dry and there was a bitter taste on his tongue. His head wasn't hurting, but it was buzzing with some kind of high-pitched noise. It had always been like this. All hospitals were the same – every awakening painful and disorienting.

Slowly, as to avoid any unpleasant surprises, he moved his hands to check his entire body. With a sigh of relief, he realized that everything was still _there_ , only his right thigh was hurting.

Then, he remembered.

He had been bitten by a snake. _Great_.

A faint _click,_ followed by the sound of the door opening and gently closing, caught his attention. He didn't have to see her to know it was Lydia, nor did his smile need any signal from his brain to cross his lips. The scent of coffee tickled his nostrils and suddenly, it didn't matter where he was. He was with Lydia, the rest was meaningless.

Her footsteps were approaching, but they were too light, as if she was tiptoeing to avoid making too much noise. A chair scratched faintly against the floor on his left, and she muffled a curse. Stiles struggled not to laugh. Hearing Lydia swear always made him melt. He was sure it was a habit she had picked up from him, and every time the word _fuck_ escaped her mouth, her eyes always seemed to disapprove.

But he kept pretending to sleep, trying to gather enough of her presence to make the hospital scents disappear. She sat down, took a sip of her coffee, and put it down somewhere next to her. Stiles swore he felt her gaze on him. She didn't touch him, but he could feel her hand over his heart warming him up and soothing his aches. She had brought a magazine. He could hear her leaf through it before putting it down too.

A draft brought the flowery softness of her hair to his nostrils and the comforting warmth of her body above his head. He heard a faint _beep_ and understood she was checking something on the monitor that was probably on his right. She uttered something that sounded satisfied and sat back down, the air around him shifting with her scent again. She must have moved a little lower because her hair grazed his face, coaxing his lungs to swell so they could gather as much of the magic that so naturally orbited her as was humanly possible.

"Stiles, are you awake?" he heard her whisper, and he realized he must have smiled.

Without answering, he nodded and turn towards her, only opening his eyes when he knew she would be the first thing he would see.

When he did, she was already standing up with a smile on her lips. Then, she kneeled next to the bed, laying her head over her forearms on the mattress. From the tip of his fingers, Stiles brushed back some strands from her forehead. He could deal with that kind of awakening.

He opened his mouth to talk, but his throat was so dry that he only let out a strained sound. Lydia jumped to her feet, "Hold on a sec… I'll get you a glass of water. The doctor said you'd need to get plenty of fluids."

Stiles tried to straighten up again, but winced, feeling dizzy. He felt Lydia's hand against his back, helping him adjusting the pillows, and sighed as he sagged against them, gulping down the glass of water.

"Thanks," he managed to articulate, his eyelids heavy.

"How do you feel?" Lydia asked him, sitting next to him on the mattress.

He sighed as her warm fingers grazed his forehead and his cheek to tuck some strands behind his ear. It had been so long since he had cut his hair that was starting to curl all around his face. She resumed her caresses, and he was slowly drifting off…

But then, her laugh roused him.

When she realized it, she cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry, go back to sleep."

He shook his head, relishing in the warmth her hand was instilling in him. The mattress shifted when she sat closer to him, and Stiles's hand instinctively found her thigh. He squeezed it faintly to encourage her closer. Lydia seemed to understand because in an instant, she was taking her shoes off and crawling under the sheet against him, helping him lie down again. When he felt her leaning against him, her head heavy on his chest and her warm body pressed as tightly as she could against his on the tiny bed, he heaved a relieved sigh. He put his arm around her shoulders and absently drew circles over her sleeve.

With each intake of breath they took, Stiles's mind was slowly waking up. He eventually asked Lydia how long they had been there.

"We got here late this morning, and it must be around 6 P.M. now. We won't be allowed to leave as long as you can't stand up without feeling dizzy. What do you remember?"

Everything was clear in his memory now. The early hike, the wildflowers, and the snake he had stepped on.

His fingers skimmed her skin until he found her hair. He followed the outline of her ear and her jaw, feeling her heart beating harder against his ribs with each caress. "I remember wanting to pick some flowers for you…but they were guarded by a fierce dragon. I fought heroically, but he bit my entire leg off. Then I threw up, and I wasn't that heroic anymore."

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Lydia lift her head from his chest and he turned to look at her. He could feel a smile trying to break free, but he tried to hold it back. Lydia lifted an eyebrow. He could guess by her pursed lips that she was doing the same.

"What?" he asked with a half-smile. "That's not what happened?"

"Not exactly…" She let her smile bloom and moved to prop herself up on her elbows above his head until the entire room vanished around him. He thought she was going to kiss him, but she stopped before he could taste her lips, her breath tickling his skin. "I can kiss you, right? It won't hurt you?"

Stiles snorted, but when he caught a glimpse of worry in her eyes, he softened his smile to reassure her. He had barely uttered the first syllable of his answer when Lydia's lips connected with his, so gentle and tender that it made Stiles forget about everything else. When she pulled away with that soft noise that always awoke butterflies in his stomach, he laid his hand against her waist and smiled at her.

"You didn't know you were allergic to snake's venom?"

Concern was so evident in her stare that it wrung his heart. He ran his hand up over her side until it reached her cheek, and he brushed his thumb over her skin. "No," he shook he head. "As crazy as it sounds, I have been bitten by more werewolves than snakes."

Her lips curled into a shy smile, and she pushed her cheek into his palm, seeking more warmth. "We were lucky that we weren't that far into our hike when it happened." She shivered, recalling how pale Stiles had suddenly turned as he began to throw up. She hadn't seen the snake right away and helped Stiles sit down, forbidding him to move before the ambulance arrived. The snake had bitten him just over his right knee. Lydia hadn't been too worried until she realized it started to swell and burn. The ambulance arrived rather quickly, but Stiles seemed to panic at the sight of the needles the doctors were holding, and he eventually passed out. "Do you feel better now?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I'm a little groggy, but I'm fine. I'm so sorry for scaring you."

With a smile, she lied back down against him, trying to fit her body as close to his as possible without hurting him. "I must say, the flowers _were_ beautiful." Her head bounced lightly on his chest when she laughed. She felt his hand find her hair again, and she let his caresses carry her mind away from that hospital bed while she caught his other arm over his stomach, tenderly massaging his skin.

Love was slowly filling her entire soul when she glanced at his forearm. At the sight of his tattoo, her stomach dropped. She knew he was afraid of needles. He had already told her that, but his reaction earlier that day wouldn't leave her mind. The hue of raw panic in his pupils when he saw the needles chilled her to the bones. Maybe the venom had already started to fog his perceptions, but it still made her wonder, and not for the first time, how he could have ever gotten a tattoo. Many times, she had wanted to ask, but she didn't need to be a genius to know the answer would be painful, so she always kept her mouth shut. Absently, she started to follow its black outline from her fingertips, those questions looping in her head.

When she felt him tense, she froze. "Sorry, I… I wasn't thinking…" she blurted out.

"It's okay," he answered, almost whispering in her hair. "It's alright, we can talk about it if you want."

Bringing their hands to her lips, Lydia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "Was it after you left? I… I hate to think that you hurt yourself on purpose," she murmured as she brought their hands under her cheek. Laying her head against his tattoo she desperately attempted to make it disappear, wishing her love could be enough to erase all his pain, close all his wounds. She knew it couldn't, but it had never stopped her from trying.

Stiles's words stayed trapped in his throat, so he wrapped Lydia in his arms and made everything that wasn't them disappear behind his eyelids, feeling their two hearts beat against each other, each of them trying to bring some peace to the other. "I'm uh…" He cleared his throat, "I'm not sure I remember when I got tattooed exactly. It was in Beacon Hills, but the chronology is a little blurry in my head…"

It was a lie. He knew that, and he knew she knew it. But Lydia didn't bring attention to it and only grasped his hand tighter.

"Why did you do it?"

That question brought him back years ago, and the words leaving his mouth felt like they were a century old. Words he had learned by heart like a pledge.

" _Tattoo_ means _open wounds_ in Samoan…" His voice trailed off a little. Hypnotized by the white and blue squares of the ceiling, his words floated above them, quivering from the heavy rhythm of Stiles's eyelids. He resumed with a lump in his throat. "I wanted to force myself to remember mine every day. To remember Allison, remember my dad, remember what I did to them, and what I had to do to make it right. To remind myself that I always carried a darkness inside of me, that it's the reason why the Nogitsune chose me. I needed to remind myself that I was responsible for my actions, no one else was. I needed to remind myself that from that moment, I had to make the right decisions, every second of every day. I had to atone for my mistakes. I wasn't allowed to rest until I had."

The last sentence got lost in a sweltering silence that slowly smothered every sound around them. Stiles tried to focus his attention on the soft rustling of Lydia's breathing, but it wasn't loud enough to cut through the silence. So, he hung on to the lines on the ceiling, last threads that tied him to the present and which might lead him out of the maze of his memories. But eventually, it was Lydia's voice that pulled him back.

"Stiles…" she whispered gently as she straightened up above him to kiss his jaw. With her other hand, she unbuttoned her plaid shirt and brought Stiles's hand under her tank top against her stomach and waist.

He felt the shivers on her skin and skimmed the line of her scar with his fingertips. He followed it until he reached the lace of her bra.

"I used to have an open wound." She waited until he looked at her and resumed. "I promise you. We'll close yours too."

Once again, he was speechless, lost in her gaze and in the love he found in it. She ran her thumb over his eyelashes to wipe off the accumulated wetness, and they stayed wrapped up in each other without saying a single word, Lydia's head tucked in the crook of his neck and her lips puckering to kiss his skin.

There was a storm in Stiles's mind. He hated himself for lying to her, and at the same time her love for him was numbing his guilt to the point that he barely felt it weighing on his heart. "I lied," he admitted.

His voice was hoarse and so weak that Lydia would have missed it if she wasn't waiting for him to talk. She pulled away to look at him, but his eyes were closed. Her lips found the corner of his mouth. "When?"

"When I told you that I didn't remember when I got tattooed. It's a lie. I remember."

"Do you want to tell me?"

Stiles blinked some tears away and locked his gaze in Lydia's. Its sadness wrenched her heart. He nodded and took a deep breath. To give him some courage, Lydia took the hand he had on her hip and laid it against her heart, keeping her own hand over his. One of their hearts was racing, she could feel it in her entire body.

"The problem with the supernatural is that it's not completely independent from our world, you know? It's not like two separate worlds exist, they both exist at the same time, and they interact... After we killed the Nogitsune, I think my mind had trouble readjusting and… I… I kept getting those feelings that I was awake when I was asleep, or going into fugue states and waking up in the middle of the woods… It scared everyone. Before the foster home, they allowed me to stay at Scott's place for a few months because his mom, Melissa was a nurse and could help me … After a few weeks, she was really worried, so she ran some tests at the hospital, the same ones the Nogitsune had faked. She thought that maybe, he had triggered the same disease my mom had…"

The idea felt like a punch to her stomach, and Lydia gasped.

Before she could jump to conclusions, Stiles took the hand she had used to cover her mouth and shook his head, kissing her knuckles. "No, no, he didn't… God, I wouldn't tell you like that…" His lips curled into a tight smile and Lydia felt hers let a small relieved laugh escape. "They were all negative, I don't have my mom's disease. So, we deduced that it must have been like a phantom limb, you know? My brain could still feel the Nogitsune somewhere."

Stiles stopped for a while. Lydia squeezed her hand tighter over his, laying them back over her heart. She felt his fingers trying to connect with her skin as much as possible, so she came closer. She had to be strong for him, but what he was saying was chilling her to the bone. It was impossible for her to not imagine herself living what he had lived. Imagine a world where the nightmares, the screams, and the voices had continued after Peter's death… How could she have been sure that it had been Peter and not her right from the beginning?

Stiles wet his lips and resumed where he had left off, confirming her thoughts. "I spent weeks and weeks wondering if I hadn't imagined the Nogitsune, if it hadn't been just…me who had killed all those people… Some kind of darkness inside of me, my own darkness that would have come to the surface at that moment."

Lydia couldn't help but shake her head. It made him smile, and he brushed his thumb over her cheekbones.

"Allison's father wanted her to be buried in France with their ancestors, but we still had a small ceremony in Beacon Hills and um…" He tilted his head back on the pillow, trying to take deep breaths, but only managing to let out sobs.

Lydia kissed his neck and his jaw, whispering that she was there, that it all belonged to the past, that nothing would happen, that he was safe. But words were still locked in his throat, so she sat beside him to nestle his head in the crook of her neck, massaged his nape, his hair, repeating the same words, over and over again, until his lungs loosened around his heart.

"I didn't go," he let out in a breath. "I didn't go, I couldn't. It hurt Scott. I know it. He told me it didn't, but I could see it... It was written all over his face. He needed me, and I wasn't there. That's when I started doing something awful."

His voice broke over his last word, so Lydia tightened her grasp on him, feeling like she was the only thing keeping him from shattering into millions of pieces.

"I lied to him, I told him I didn't remember what I did the day of the ceremony, that I hadn't been myself. He didn't believe me. I saw it, but… He pretended to believe me, Lyds…"

"Stiles…" She let him burst into tears in her arms, his head heavy against her chest. They couldn't possibly be closer to each other or she would hurt him, so she tried another way, focusing on his breathing and on the aura surrounding him. For a fraction of second, she swore she felt his _soul_ vibrate against hers, absorbing a little of her warmth. This tiny second seemed to be enough to soothe Stiles's tears. He wiped his eyes and laid a kiss on the skin of her neck.

"I did it again, used that same excuse every time I did something that I was ashamed of, until…"

He lifted his head and pulled slightly away, turning the hand Lydia was keeping against his heart to intertwine their fingers. There was something in the way he was watching her that made her fear the worst, some kind of resignation she thought she had erased. Before he could speak, she kissed him firmly. "Whatever you're about to say, Stiles, it won't make me love you less. Do you hear me? I've made mistakes too. We all did. You're not that person anymore, and I love you. I love you wholly. Your past has made you who you are. There's nothing you can tell me that will make me want to leave you. Nothing, alright?"

He nodded after a few seconds and lowered his gaze, finding his spot in the crook of her neck again. "I killed someone," he confessed.

Lydia slowly gulped and clenched her fingers around the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck until not even an atom could fit between them, until she could feel every inch of him against her, making sure that no part of himself was losing itself in his past.

"He uh… Donovan, a kid my own age… He came after me. He was trying to kill me, and I ended up killing him. I… I lied to Scott when I told him about it. I told him I couldn't remember what happened. But this time, he told me he didn't believe me, and we had a huge fight. We were both angry and sad… It was awful. But then, we made up." Stiles let out a laugh underneath his breath, a beautiful note ripping through the darkness that had settled around them. "The next morning, we were both wandering through the streets and ended up at the same place at the same time, an old skate park where we would always play when we were kids. We talked, and we burst out crying in each other's arms. Things got better… At least until the next disaster –until he lost someone else. Again. It was after we made up that I decided to get the tattoo. Scott tried to talk me out of it, telling me I was only punishing myself… But it was exactly what I wanted."

With those words, he lifted his head, locking his gaze in Lydia's. Something was shining in his eyes. Something that wasn't tears, something Lydia recognized as his soul asking for her forgiveness, his soul desperately seeking from her irises something he could only truly find in his own heart. But Lydia knew he wasn't there, not yet. So, she gave him what she could in that moment, knowing it would only bring him an ephemeral solace. She cupped his face and laid her lips on his in a faint kiss.

"You have a beautiful soul, Stiles. None of this makes me look at you differently. I don't know what happened exactly, what made you feel like you had to leave, but I know they'll forgive you. You've got the proof in that story, but you have to forgive yourself first. You have to forgive the teenager you were." She shook her head and kissed him again, finding strength in his stare that kept shimmering, brighter and brighter, until she recognized in it her own guiding star. "Anyone in your situation would have done what you did, some would have even done much worse. You were able to move on, to get better, even if it took some time, even if you made other mistakes afterwards. I promise you that one day, you'll look at your tattoo like I look at my scar. It won't be a stigma from your past anymore, but a proof that you survived it, that you rose from its ashes."

Silence settled between them, but Lydia could still feel that vibration coming from Stiles. It was echoing deep inside of her, and she understood that they were still talking. Somehow, they were still communicating. She let the sensation linger, not even noticing that their bodies were seeking each other. Only when he whispered her name in a breath that tickled her lips, did she notice how close they were. His lips brushed hers, and she titled her head to let him kiss her slowly. When she parted her lips to gather more strokes from him, she felt his hand against her ear and in her hair, caressing her just as tenderly. She moaned faintly in his mouth when he pressed her tighter against him.

"Stiles, you're gonna hurt yourself," she whispered in a sigh between two kisses.

Just as those words left her mouth, Stiles winced and had to pull away, muttering a curse. Lydia quickly sat up, letting him lie more at ease in the middle of the bed. She ran a hand over his face, brushing some strands of hair away from his eyes, then passed him another glass of water. He drank it and lied back down, wincing.

"Does it hurt?"

"No… But the room is spinning."

He frowned, wincing again and Lydia leaned in to peck his lips. They gazed at each other and they both smiled.

"Thanks," he said, slowly skimming his hand on her cheek, tucking a long curl behind her ear. "Thank you for everything."

She smiled and kissed him again, running her hand through his hair. "I love you, Stiles, I'd never leave you like that."

Then, she lied back down next to him, trying to give him as much space as possible. His breathing was still uneven, but she could tell he was calmer, more at ease after trusting her with that part of his soul. Stiles moved to take her back in his arms, but she reluctantly shook her head, telling him he wouldn't be able to sleep if she crowds him too much. So, she stayed on her side, gazing at him with one hand between her cheek and the end of the pillowcase, the other one clutching his arm. From the tip of her lips, she kissed his shoulder and kept her nose against it. Stiles took her hand and laid it above his heart, brushing his thumb over Lydia's skin.

"Get some rest, okay?"

He nodded and blinked heavily a few times before drifting off. There were so many things Lydia still wanted to tell him. Seeing him like that was breaking her heart, and if it hadn't been so important for him to sleep right now, she would have continued to try reassuring him. But his breathing was already deepening, and his hand was weighing heavier above hers.

To avoid hurting him by nestling up against him more, she closed her own eyes and tried to reproduce what she had done earlier. She focused her attention on his breathing, trying to bring him as much peace as she could, searching for the spark of his soul that she had felt.

After a few minutes, a wave of warmth overwhelmed her, and she couldn't hold back her moan. She tried to stay still, but her hand squeezed his, and she felt him slowly emerging from his sleepy state. He shifted towards her with his eyes shut and kissed her forehead. She could feel his lips curl into a smile and understood he had felt the same thing she had.

"Stiles," she sighed when she felt him moving to hold her in his arms. "You should really stop moving and sleep."

"That's your fault, you're distracting me."

"I'm not doing anything!" She didn't try to muffle her laugh when he trapped her head between his forearms to kiss her cheek and ear in a series of loud pecks. Eventually, she turned to lie on her back and let him kiss her deeply.

"That's debatable."

In between kisses, she warned him that he was going to hurt himself again and told him she didn't want to spend the night here. But her voice contained too many giggles to fool him, and Stiles kept hovering over her, smiling in the way he always did when there were no worries cluttering up his mind, so she eventually stopped talking.

She had done something. She had no idea what, but somehow, she had helped him put aside the heaviness that had followed their conversation.

As he stayed quiet and still above her, his smile glued to her lips, Lydia couldn't help digging deeper. "What are you thinking about?"

"You."

She gaped at him as she watched the blissful expression on his face, his gaze slowly turning into something even deeper. Something that felt like unconditional love; so intense and genuine her breath got caught in her lungs. He slowly bowed his head to kiss her again, keeping his stare locked into hers and only closing his eyes when their lips touched. Around her head, she felt his arms shake a little, so she put her hands around his biceps to help him lean a little closer against her. His tongue stroked hers lazily, and Lydia could feel his body pressing into hers, more and more, but at the same time always careful to not crush her with his weight. She let her hands run along his arms, let her mind get engulfed by him, but a sudden noise in the hallway broke them both out of their trance and reminded them that they weren't actually in the comfort of their own bed. With smiles and faint laughs, they untangled themselves and lied back down next to each other.

Lydia was about to tell him, for the hundredth time, that he should sleep when he opened his mouth to speak. "Do you remember the first thing you said to me?"

The question took Lydia by surprise. She was about to ask him what he meant when she felt that surge of warmth flooding through her again. Without wondering too long, she let it engulf her, let that connection between them, that tugging around her heart draw them both into its swirl. She suddenly felt euphoric, and she knew the same wide smile that was crossing Stiles's face was crossing hers too. She knew what he meant. She didn't need to ask.

Even a month later, when that sensation of sharing their entire souls would be more natural for them, Lydia would still be clueless about how it could happen. But it did, and in that instant, she could only marvel at the universe Stiles's soul was opening in front of her.

After they spent a few seconds gazing in wonder into each other's eyes, she nibbled at her lips and shook her head. "Tell me."

They moved to face each other, their hands intertwined between them. Stiles's voice was low, almost raspy, and Lydia dived into its depths without hesitation. She knew he would be there to keep her afloat if she started drowning.

"It was in the third grade. We weren't in the same class, but I saw you sometimes in the library with your friends. You were always reading the biggest books, the ones without any pictures in it and with plain covers. I was so impressed every time…" They let out a laugh and Lydia caressed his thumb. "One day, our teacher was sick, so they split us between several classes. It was…" His smile abruptly vanished, and Lydia felt something weighing too heavily on her chest. "It was a few weeks after my mom… passed away."

Stiles took a few seconds to gulp down his emotions, but Lydia felt everything. She tightened her grasp on his hands, trying to find the spark between them that would make his smile return. When she kissed his nose, she realized it hadn't vanished because she felt his lips curling up again.

"They put me not only in your class, but right next to you. I was so nervous! My legs were restless...even more than usual…and I was afraid you would say something, ask me to stop it, but you didn't. I couldn't help thinking about those big books you read, how much smarter than everyone else you must have been. So, I did everything I could to sit with my back as straight as possible, ordering my pens as neatly as you on my desk… Do you remember?"

Lydia felt her stomach drop. It pained her to admit it, even to herself, but she had no memory of Stiles before high school.

He must have noticed the look of sudden panic in her eyes, or maybe he sensed it in the air shifting between them, because he let her hands go to cradle her cheek with his palm and kissed her. "It's alright", he said, smiling. "We didn't know each other after all."

"Yeah...but I wish we did... Was I nice to you at least?"

His smile widened, and he took back her hands. "You were _perfect_. I have no idea what the lesson was, I think it was science, but I can't remember specifically. We had an exercise to do with our neighbor, and we were done before everyone else. You were fidgeting with your pens, doodling on a separate piece of paper…like the perfect student you were, and it impressed me even more because I kind of expected you to ask for another assignment, but mostly because I found it amazing that someone that smart _doodled_."

Lydia couldn't hold back her snort, making Stiles laugh too.

"Anyway, it must have given me enough courage to talk to you, so I started asking you about those big books you read." His voice seemed to lose itself in the memory, and he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail over her skin, grazing her forearm with the mildness of a spring breeze ruffling a wheat field.

"You started talking about so many things with a look in your eyes that was so intense it almost vibrated. And your smile… I couldn't look anywhere else. I was fascinated by everything you told me, and I kept asking you questions to be sure I understood all of it. At one point, I asked you if I was bothering you with my questions, because that was what adults had always told me. But you said I hadn't, because usually, no one asked you anything…and you didn't mind answering questions, talking about the things you liked. So, I kept asking you question after question, and you eventually told me about a scientist's biography you were reading. I can't remember his name, but you told me he said: _Nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed_. It completely took me by surprise because it made me think of my mom, and I hadn't thought of her the entire day. You told me he was talking about atoms and matter, but I asked you if you thought we could say the same about people. You gave me the most perfect answer. You said, _We're all made out of atoms and matter, right?_ "

Lydia felt a smile burst out on her lips. "I really said that?"

Stiles nodded with the same smile across his face, and she felt all the energy of his soul surround her even tighter – not smothering her, but cradling her, adjusting perfectly around her shape.

"Like I said, you were perfect. When I came home from school that day, I told my dad about it, and we spent the evening trying to guess everything my mom could have transformed into. It didn't fix everything, but it helped, and for a few days…I think we were happy."

"I'm glad." Knowing it was useless to tell him to sleep now, and that clearly, she didn't want him to sleep anyway, she continued. "Do you have other memories like this one?"

"Memories of you?"

She silently nodded, feeling the metronome in her heart tethered to the vibration in his eyes and pulsing in her lips. The evening light was slowly entering the room, so Lydia turned off the white neon lamp and turned on the softer bedside one.

Feeling like the blue darkness offered thicker blanket to wrap themselves in, Stiles tilted his entire body towards her and started toying absently with her fingers. His stare lost itself in memories, and it was like diving into a stretch of river shaded by trees on an August afternoon. "My brain is filled with memories of you. They used to leave a bitter taste on my tongue, so I tried to be careful whenever I played them in my head. I didn't want them to turn into sad memories. But today…" His voice trailed off, and he started playing with strands of Lydia's hair, running his fingers through it from her ear to her arm and breast.

Lydia buried her head deeper into the pillow and let his voice lull her, his raspy tone grazing her soul. If she closed her eyes, she would be able to feel it on her skin. Something as warm and as smooth as the sensation of the earth warmed up by a summer sun and cradling her tired body for the duration of a nap.

He returned to her, his gaze suddenly the most luminous star against the night sky outside and he smiled. "Today, they are still there, they're beautiful, and they feel good. I remember everything. I remember all those times when I had a free period, and I was waiting for you to come out of your classroom just so I could see you, or when my eyes automatically found you in the cafeteria. It was a reflex, I wasn't going to come over to you, or anything. I just needed to make sure you were there, and I would feel better, breathe better. I remember I always wondered how anyone couldn't see what I saw in you. It was so obvious to me that you weren't like the others. You remember those yearly charity runs in middle school?"

Lydia nodded and winced, making Stiles smile. "I dreaded those..."

"It always ended up being the coldest morning of December, remember?"

She groaned and squeezed her eyes shut, laughing faintly as she hid her face in the pillow. Stiles snorted, bringing his nose closer to hers when she lifted her head to look at him, still smiling. He kissed the corner of her eye before resuming. "When you were done running, you would stay near the finish line with your friends, but you didn't make fun of the last ones to arrive, like they did. You would stand there in your purple coat, smiling at them, mouthing encouraging words, passing out bottles of water… It was discreet, but it was all I could see. We also had a few classes together back then, remember?"

The question pierced her heart and forced her back to reality. She squeezed Stiles's hands, painfully articulating the beginning of an answer. But Stiles cut her off, giving her one of the most tender kisses he had ever given her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry… It doesn't matter anyway."

Lydia pushed against his lips, letting him help her get rid of her guilt with his caresses. Eventually, she was able to talk. "I… I remember you more from high school. I wish I remembered more. I wish I remembered everything. I don't have a lot of memories of that time and the ones I have… They hurt."

She shut her eyes tight, already feeling her chest tightening under the pressure of her regrets. What would her memories look like if she could remember Stiles? How would those memories look if they had started talking one day? Stiles interrupted her downwards spiral with another kiss, a firm caress from his lips that forced those thoughts out of her mind and unlocked her lungs. A low moan escaped, and Stiles caught that too, parting his lips. Lydia was already feeling lighter when she let his lips go in a soft nibble.

"I know they hurt, it's okay," he smiled, taking her hands in his to kiss her knuckles and kept them against him, brushing his thumb over her skin and resumed, his voice still low. "We have each other now, we have today, we have tomorrow and that's much better, don't you think?"

"Mmh…" Lydia nodded, already longing for his kisses. Without even thinking about it, she let her nose brush against his and closed her eyes. When he started speaking again, it felt like he was trying to instill his words directly into her soul and heart.

"We weren't in the same classes that often, but sometimes, it was just you and me. You didn't know anyone else in the class and I didn't either. You were so different then… I would raise my hand more than usual, and I could see you struggling against yourself to not do the same, until you couldn't help it anymore."

They both laughed underneath their breath. Lydia had already noticed that Stiles had a special way to tell stories. He could take her with him into any time or place, making her feel like she was living the moment. His voice was coated with so much love that she had trouble remembering _she_ was the one he was talking about.

"After a while, I'd stopped participating. You'd answer every question and I'd watch you. I couldn't help it… You seemed so happy, thriving in your element. If I'm honest, I never liked your friends from back then, but in those moments, I hated them for making you believe you had to hide that side of yourself. When the class was over, I would always hang back, listen to you talking to the teacher for a while. Your eyes were… I wouldn't even know how to describe them. It was as if for an hour, you had allowed a piece of your soul out, let it get some sun for a while, and it was still reflecting in your eyes. They were vibrating, and you were glowing. You were so beautiful…"

He stayed pensive for a while, already losing himself in another memory and it struck Lydia again.

The way he spoke about her, the way he saw her, even back then… It was enough to lighten her memories, make them weigh less on her heart, on her shoulders. Maybe with time he would make her forget about all the bad and when her mind would be clear enough from that fog, all she would see would be him, her Sun, her Moon, her everything. Her heart was beating so fast she nibbled at her lips to keep its sound inside because Stiles was still smiling, lost in his memories of her, and she wanted to keep watching him – at peace, beautiful, love written all over his features, reverberating through her in millions of echoes that all had his name.

He let out a small laugh and lifted his head to look at her.

"I remember the first time you showed up with high heels and make up on."

A groan escaped Lydia's lips, and she buried herself in the crook of his neck, hiding her face in her hands. She mumbled something that made Stiles laugh, and he coaxed her out of her hiding spot, parting her hands to reveal her cheeks, red from embarrassment, and a wide smile.

"You remember _that_?"

"Oh yeah, it's permanently engraved in my memory… We were what… thirteen?"

She nodded, and he resumed with a straighter face.

"I thought you looked beautiful, no more than usual, but different, you know? I couldn't think about anything else the entire day because as much as seeing you like that was…" He blushed faintly and cleared his throat, "doing _things_ to me, I couldn't help but think you looked even sadder than usual."

Lydia felt her stomach twist at the tone in his voice and he brushed her cheek, slowly kissing her nose.

"And when I heard how others spoke about you, I pulled myself together. I didn't want to be like them. I hated them, and I couldn't help but defend you whenever someone was saying something untrue about you."

"Thanks…" She hadn't realized her voice was so heavy with emotion, and she had to clear her throat. "I didn't know I had a lucky star." A smile crossed her face, and she couldn't stop her lips from being drawn to his. She put all her love and gratefulness in those kisses, all the awe he was expressing with his words, and which echoed in every single one of her bones. Her tongue caressed his lips, and she sighed when she felt his meet hers.

"But those memories," he shook his head, tightening his grasp on her hands. "They're not my favorites. The ones that mean the most are the ones outside of school, when you were freer."

"You saw me outside?"

"Mmh… Like in the street, on your bike. I remember seeing you ride down the block…sometimes as often as once a week, when you would try to run away from home."

"How did you know about that?"

"My dad told me. One day, we were washing the Jeep together, and we saw you on your bike. He must have caught me following you with my eyes, and he asked if you were sad at school. I told him you were always sad since…"

"My dad left," she finished for him.

"Yeah…" He gave her a kiss before resuming. "That's when he told me you'd been disappearing regularly, for months. Your mother had told the police, because she was worried that something might happen to you."

"Oh…"

"You didn't know that?"

"No…but that's my mother in a nutshell… Worrying about me without saying anything…"

"I'm so sorry," he said, brushing a finger along her cheek. "I think he told me hoping it would encourage me to talk to you. I almost did…a few days later. I was coming out of the house when I saw you, a couple of houses away, trying to fix the chains on your bike. I was trying to gather enough courage to go over to you, but Scott arrived at the same time, and it stopped me. When I looked back, you were gone, and I never saw you on your bike again."

"I stopped… I… I always tried to avoid the areas where people I knew were living, but someone saw me once, so… I just stopped."

Lydia's throat tightened over those last words. Her bike escapes never lasted too long, but she loved those moments. Sometimes, in the calm streets, when there wasn't a single car in sight, she would listen to her music, letting the notes and the wind in her hair carry her towards something else. For a moment, she was nobody. Just a girl getting caught up in the wind.

"I'm happy you remember me like that. I… I know I was disappearing during these years. It scared me… It was like I could feel myself vanishing a little more every day, and I didn't know how to stop it. But you remember it. You saw _me_ and you remember me … It feels real that way… I feel real…"

"I've always seen you, Lyds, I was looking for you everywhere anyway…even years after you were gone. I knew you were here…somewhere." He smiled at her and took her hands. "Even if you were hard to find sometimes."

"Do you have any memory of me from right before I left?"

She knew she was almost panting. She knew it, but she couldn't help it. Listening to Stiles talking about her _like that_ was taking them both back to a life they had lost a long time ago. Each word felt like a bandage on her wounds. Each word seemed to bring them even closer to each other. Because Stiles wasn't just telling her stories, he was rekindling a spark of innocent love that had given him hope in his younger years. The same spark that had turned into a beautiful sun in his eyes and that warmed them up every day.

"Yeah… Do you remember that part of the beach they closed to traffic to protect it from pollution?" Lydia nodded, her heart racing, because she was almost certain to know what Stiles would talk about. "They had sat up an electric bus and—"

"You, Scott, and sometimes your parents would take it on the weekends," she finished for him, breathless and feeling euphoric at the idea to share such a simple memory with Stiles.

"You… You remember?" he asked, a wide smiling crossing his lips.

"Yeah… I told you, I… I remember you from high school. Well…part of you at least…" Her voice trailed on those words, and she continued, her tone half embarrassed and half shy. "I… I wasn't completely honest with you when I told you I didn't remember you when we met in France."

Stiles didn't answer, but he couldn't stop smiling and staring at her. "Tell me then, what do you remember?"

Hesitant and tugging at her bottom lip, Lydia squeezed tighter against him to kiss his suddenly rosy cheek. "Finish your story first."

"Well, it was one of those few times when I would see you outside alone. I knew you were meeting with your friends at the beach, and I couldn't help thinking you were coming later on purpose… To have some time alone."

She snorted, "I was an open book to you! Wasn't I?"

It made Stiles smile, and his voice went even lower. "I remember you always had your earphones on. One day, you sat down just the row before me, and I could see you were listening to some scientific podcast… For a moment, I almost forgot about everyone around us… I was dying to sit next to you."

"Why didn't you?"

He lost himself in the memory for a second, and he shook his head. "Because it was _your_ alone time. Because I could see all the effort you made at school to hide yourself, and I knew that short hour-and-a-half was all you had left to yourself. It was the only moment when you felt free." Lydia's fingers grasped Stiles's more tightly, and he caressed them tenderly before resuming. "I couldn't take it away from you. Sometimes, you were near a window the driver had opened. Your hair would be down, and it would get tangled up in the breeze, flying outside, and tickling your smile. You were so beautiful, free, happy… I could spend the entire drive just watching you."

"You know… I would have talked to you."

"Really?"

"Mmh…" Lydia opened her hand to interlace their fingers and resumed. "I didn't know you, but I… I knew your eyes… I noticed them. There was always something different about them. Your stare… It wasn't…" She tugged at her lips, unable to find the words for what had remained a mystery even during all those years away from Beacon Hills. "It wasn't weighing on me. I've always felt safe in your eyes, not like others… I remember you on that bus because I couldn't help noticing you."

Stiles remained speechless for a while, feeling his pulse pounding in his ears. "I um… You would have wanted me to come over to you?"

She nodded, nibbling at her lips. "I would have liked it, yes."

"Do you think we would have become friends? Let's imagine for a second…high school without werewolves, no supernatural creatures of any kind, nothing. Say I would have sat down next to you one day… What would have happened?"

Lydia let herself drown in Stiles's amber soul and in his voice. For a moment, it felt as if they were back years ago, on that bus. She would have sat down, making sure the seat beside her was free, and she would have glimpsed at the last row to make sure Stiles was there like she always did before focusing on her podcast. He would have sat down and...

"I would have taken off one earpiece, and I would have looked at you, raising an eyebrow."

"Always classy," he smiled. "I would have probably made a stupid joke and tried to smirk like this." Lydia snorted at the face he made, as he titled his head back and forth, trying to look as detached as possible.

Tiredness was beginning to overwhelm Stiles, but he was losing himself with delight in their bus encounter and kept talking, his eyes smiling even under his lids. "But, right away I would have stopped trying to impress you. I would have asked you questions about what you were listening to, and I would have tried to understand everything just so I could keep talking to you. You wouldn't have minded, right?"

"No… And if I had, I would have just put the earpiece back on, and you would have taken the hint."

"Yes, I would have. Because I can be classy too… When the bus would have arrived, I'd have offered to get you an ice cream, but you would have told me friends were waiting, so –"

"Maybe I would have said yes… Or maybe I would have given you my number, and we would have met on that same bus every week…until I confessed one day that my friends weren't actually at the beach every weekend."

"You took the bus just for me?"

"Yes, because you still haven't invited me to the prom."

"I didn't? Why?"

"I don't know… We've been discussing it for months on that bus and texting every night, but you still haven't asked me."

"So, you invited me?"

"Sure, why not?"

Half asleep, Stiles smiled and beamed at her. "How did you do it?"

"I asked if you wanted an ice cream, you looked at me a little surprised and – "

"Don't you have to meet your friends?"

His sudden question made her heart stop, and she didn't need to close her eyes to picture them stepping off the bus. She could see herself and feel Stiles right behind her as she set her foot on the parking lot and let her lungs swell to welcome the salty ocean breeze. Her lips would have pursed to try to keep her racing heart inside her body.

"No, they aren't here. Do you want that ice cream, or not?"

"Yeah, of course, yes."

Stiles would have stepped out, she would have turned, and he would have stood beside her.

His lips on her neck coaxed a giggle out of her and she went on, "I would have paid for both our ice creams, and we would have sat down at the table under the palm trees – "

"Come on, the palm trees table? You _know_ it's never free…"

"Then, we would have eaten our ice cream while walking along the shore?"

He smiled again and nodded, letting her continue.

"I would have looked at the ocean and asked you if you wanted to go to prom. My stomach would have twisted so much that I wouldn't have been able to eat anything. Whatever your answer would have been, I would have said I wasn't planning on going, unless you wanted to go with me. You would have said yes… right?"

"I would have looked stupid because my heart would have leaped into my throat, and _then_ I would have said yes." He snorted and tentatively kissed his way up from her neck to her lips.

She smiled and her heart raced as fast as if she had been on that beach.

"I like that memory," he continued, unable and unwilling to stop gawking at her.

"Me too… Actually… Maybe we wouldn't have waited until the end of high school. Maybe one day, you would have looked at me like that, and I would have kissed you."

A wide smile spread on his lips. "Yeah, maybe…"

Silence wrapped them in its arms, and Stiles closed his eyes, feeling a wave of tiredness and happiness crash over him, making him almost dizzy. Without uttering a word, Lydia brushed her fingers over his face and marveled at his features finally relaxing. Then, she watched him fall into a peaceful sleep.

It only took her a moment to come up with an idea. She had to help him focus on those kinds of memories – the kind that had nothing to do with the supernatural, the kind that nurtured his soul instead of bruising it. So, she waited until he was deeply asleep this time and focused on the vibration of his soul again, following the path it was forming between his bruises and wounds, until she was certain she had found the ones that were still open, still hurting him deeply.

Later on, when they were able to go home and were sleeping in their own bed, she tried it again…and again the night after…and again… Until it became a reflex, something she needed to do to fall asleep. Anchored by his arms, she would let the steady beating of his heart carry her mind towards his. She discovered that some of his wounds were connecting their two souls, these were easier to heal. But there was a place in his soul, some hidden corner where his wounds were still left vulnerable.

One night, late in September, her instinct told her she had found something important. She had no idea what it was, but the sounds had reverberated through him and through her before spreading outside of them, reaching what Lydia would later learn to be Scott's soul.

It had been so strong that it almost woke Stiles.

"It is morning already?" he mumbled in a drowsy voice.

Lydia laid a kiss on his nose and kept her voice as low as possible. "No, go back to sleep."

Without opening an eye, his hand found her waist, and he pulled her closer to him. "C' mere, it's cold." She let her warmth engulf him, and as she drifted off, she felt his lips on her temple. "Thanks," he whispered.

Lifting her head, she realized he was already asleep, and smiled. Her lips found his neck. "I'm gonna take care of you." Her words were barely louder than her breath, but she watched them find the way through Stiles as they spread on his skin in millions of shivers.

Stiles's soul was bruised, and she knew that even if he was healing, some wounds were still open, still bleeding. But she also knew it wouldn't stay like that forever and she was determined to help him as much as she could.

.

Because all open wounds were meant to be closed.


	21. To New Beginnings

**Let's (funny how an apostrophe,  
some ink slash between two letters,  
some tiny slanted contraction  
creation can sum up two, one me  
one you and the road we walked  
to get to here, the sorrow stained shoes  
we wore, but have since retired, the  
nights we sat on the hillside together,  
the nights we ran there apart,  
but felt the ghosts of the missing other,  
looked out over the city we knew since  
youth, changed but the same,  
bigger but somehow now shrunk down  
to two houses on two mountainsides  
filled but improperly, how it can sum  
up the leather tied to tree branches  
and vows spoken into the wind  
and rain when no one else would  
listen, sum up the hope I held  
when you dropped it, the hope  
I carried and kept rotating in my hands  
to show you it, new and now worthy  
of belief, funny how that stupid  
apostrophe thinks it can sum up  
a word like Us) begin.**

 **\- Tyler Knott Gregson –**

* * *

 **Friday, January 6th, 2023 – In a plane, above the Atlantic**

Stiles was barely paying attention to what was happening on his screen. He had been unable to watch any movie from start to finish because his mind wasn't allowing him any rest. It kept jumping from one thought to another, making him stop every movie after a few minutes until he found _The Return of the Jedi_.

It had been months, he had realized, since the last time he had watched any _Star Wars_ movie, and it felt like leafing through his mom's notebook. It was nostalgic, like saying _hi_ to an old friend, one that had always been there through the dark times, one he could always count on, but that he wasn't needing as much as he used to. A smile on his face would try to cover some tears when a scene or a line made him remember a moment in his life, a guidance he had been looking for, some light.

After all, it had all started with _Star Wars_.

Stiles didn't remember how exactly, but it didn't really matter. Those movies had always been with him. Those characters were always somewhere in his mind, showing him the direction, telling him – time and time again, that there was always hope. Somewhere. Everywhere. Even if it meant losing sometimes.

Stiles was barely paying attention to what was happening on his screen because today, he knew he had been right. Right to listen to those characters, to that story, to that crazy little voice that had always told him that maybe, just maybe, if he was strong enough, patient enough, he could rip through it all. Fatality and destiny. Shred them to pieces to find his own path.

Lydia was dozing next to him; her pretty head on his shoulder. That pretty head that held the most precious treasure in this universe. She had decided it could be his, all of it. Her mind, her love, her beauty, her soul. She had given it all to him, and not a day had passed without Stiles being grateful for her gift. Not a day passed without him offering his entire being to her in exchange.

In five hours, they would land in Los Angeles.

Five hours...

Five hours of a nine hour's journey that used to take people weeks, if not months. How many people had crossed that ocean before them? In a plane, or on a boat... How many people over the centuries had left, hoping for the best with barely enough to eat in their pockets? How many had succeeded? How many had failed?

On his screen, for at least the hundredth time, Darth Vader was saying _no_ to what had been planned for him. A little late maybe, but still proving to the entire planet, after all those years, that it was possible. Not every tragic story had to end in a tragedy.

There were no such things as sealed fates.

Seeing Deaton at the airport a few hours earlier and breaking down crying in his arms, letting himself get flooded by all his emotions had been salutary. It had allowed Stiles to take a step back and reconsider everything. It wasn't that all anxiety was gone. No, it was still there. But something had taken that anxiety in its arms to soothe it and now, he knew.

Everything would be alright.

It felt as if someone had taken that scared teenager inside by the hand to help him with these last steps. It wasn't Deaton, it wasn't Lydia, it wasn't himself... It was a little of everything, something bigger than any one person, something that preceded and followed him. Something eternal. It didn't mean he wouldn't be scared anymore. It just meant that from now on, he would know how to walk through the fire without getting burned too badly, he would know how to chase every little gleam of light, even in the dead of night.

With Lydia by his side, they would be invincible.

For days, between the moment they had booked their flight and now, they had been scared. Scared of what they would find in Beacon Hills and whether they would survive it or not.

For days, Stiles had barely uttered a single word, and Lydia had been focused on organizing everything. It would have frightened them even more to see each other adopt habits that should have long been forgotten if they hadn't developed millions of other ways to communicate. With a stare or with a touch, they knew they could reassure each other. The last night before their departure, they barely slept. Keeping their eyes wide open in the dark for hours, their tongues unable to form any words, but their fingers tightly interlaced.

They made love with an infinite tenderness that night, moving slowly and taking the time to listen to every single note of their moans and sighs. Taking everything in with the curiosity of a first time, following each caress and stroke with gazes full of love and responding to them with their entire body. Slowly. Always slowly. Underneath him, Lydia had felt like an endless wave, filling his palms with her warmth and engulfing him whenever he didn't have the will to stay afloat.

Not a word had been exchanged, but when they were half asleep, Stiles's head heavy on Lydia's breasts, she buried her nose in his hair, kissing his skull faintly several times. In response, he let his hand drift against her skin on her ribs to draw a heart from his fingertips and they both knew what it meant.

It meant "I'm sorry", it meant "I love you" and it meant "We'll be alright, just don't let go".

In the morning, everything was forgotten.

If this journey was a movie, Stiles knew deep down that they were nearing the end. It was strange to think about it that way. If he had an ending, he had always pictured it tragic – coming back to Beacon Hills, with Peter's head in his hands, begging for forgiveness in a last intake of breath. But that didn't happen. Together, with Lydia, they had ripped out those pages under a torrential Spanish rain, thrown them in the air and danced in puddles under the confetti of their past. They had cut out all the letters of the next chapters and used the same ones to write an entirely different story. Maybe even in a different language, a language nobody knew, something that would be just theirs. If it was the case, he knew that language would only contain eight letters, the eight letters from their names.

And in that story, this wasn't the end, it was a beginning.

Stiles's eyelids kept getting heavier, and he started drifting off, taking his earphones off and letting his head rest against Lydia's. In a dreaming haze, he wondered what the first chapter of their story would be about, and when he felt Lydia nuzzling closer to him, he remembered.

He remembered what it had always been about: Lydia.

Offering Lydia the world.

Offering her strong roots.

This wasn't a story of revenge, this was the story of how Lydia and Stiles were reborn.

And this was the first chapter.

* * *

Stiles Stilinski doesn't remember ever loving anyone other than Lydia Martin. He even loved her before he knew her. Of that, he is sure.

He is fourteen years old the day he realizes that if he could, he would offer her the world. If he could, he would start the Jeep, knock on her door, and take her by the hand to drive her far away. Far away from this town that only has one museum with two rooms "Beacon County a hundred years ago" and "Beacon County today". Far away from the house that she doesn't even call _home_ because she spends most of her nights and days alone, in the company of only her brave little dog and her own voice. But mostly, far away from those boys all encouraging her to become someone else, and far away from Jackson who thinks that "making a woman out of her" is not only an actual thing, but also the greatest birthday present he could ever give her. That day in the locker room, Stiles is thankful for Scott's presence because without him, he knows he would have ended up handcuffed in his dad's office.

Stiles has only been on this Earth for fourteen years, but his love has made him live a thousand, and he has already thought of a million gifts he could offer Lydia. Whether it was adventures on his spaceship when he was younger, or hitchhiking through the galaxy, stopping in between missions to rest a little on planets that were covered in seas with palm-tree beaches or filled with libraries that would only contain big books without any pictures, old documentaries, and movies in funny languages with subtitles.

Ever since Lydia told him people never asked her any questions, Stiles wants to offer her the world. He wants to give her the possibility to choose the life she wants, surrounded by the people she loves and questions to answer.

Despite the years and the distance, Stiles doesn't forget any of it.

His wish turns into longing though, takes on the outlines and colors of legends, of stories told by the fire to remember better days and lull oneself into hoping for a radiant future, even just for an instant.

But one day, their paths merge, and somewhere along the road, she leaves him a note signed with a smiley face and the faded colors turn vibrant again. Stiles is amazed when he finds that note, holding it in his fingertips as if Lydia has just offered him a snippet of her soul.

And it all comes back… The desire to show her the world. It was already there when he offered her Andalusia, but it never really felt real, rather like a dream coming true. But that day… That day, it burns again in his veins. The desire is so strong it makes his body pulsate with an excitement he hasn't let himself feel in a long time. It gives his heart a reason to keep beating, to live beyond getting revenge on Peter, beyond Beacon Hills. To live for himself, for her. For them.

Every time they set foot in another city, in another place, he watches as her eyes widen, how her lips curl up into a smile, more and more easily, until it seems like she is rediscovering the miracle of breathing on the top of that mountain in the Alps. She is breathing pure air like it's the first time her lungs are soaking it up. She is captivated by everything she sees, gaping at nature with the wonder of a new-born, and the only thing he can think about is how badly he wants to show her more. Show her things he has never seen, but always wanted to. Discover new territories with her and let her add colors to landscapes painted in black and grey in his memories. Intertwine their fingers, anchor their bodies to each other, to the Earth, take roots while their souls sail far away in the azure, knowing they will never lose their way.

On New Year's Eve, Stiles told Lydia everything would change after Beacon Hills, he told her they would be a family, they would have roots, and that it would make all the difference. And he believed it.

But when the pilot's voice startles both of them awake to inform them that they would be landing in twenty minutes, Stiles feels nothing but excitement inside of him, and he wonders if things haven't already changed.

xxxxx

They haven't.

At least, not really. A few hours later, Stiles would laugh at himself if every noise in the airport wasn't amplified in his own body and brain, turning him into a punching bag for hurried and frantic sounds. High heels, businessmen, and tiny shoes jumping around people who raise their voices to tell them to stop and behave. Running, stamping, screeching, announcements for people being late and planes delayed... It's all reverberating through him without any rhythm, without any logic, but with too much violence. His heart doesn't know what to follow and decides to follow everything. Stiles would laugh at himself if it wasn't so painful, because this is the first time he is having a panic attack for getting too excited.

He keeps his eyes closed, trying to get his heart's attention long enough to tell it to focus on Lydia's warm skin. She helps him sit down in a corridor, then kneels in front of him with his palm tucked under her plaid shirt, skimming the skin of her breast, and holds his hand to her body, as firmly as she can, so he can feel the movement of her chest. So she can give him a rhythm to follow.

Her heartbeat isn't steady. She has been worried ever since the landing was announced, and she tries hard not to show any sign of it, but Stiles knows. She probably is aware that he knows too. He was about to say something, to try to bring her some solace in his arms when he started feeling dizzy.

Lydia worries about him, but he knows how to help her. He needs to breathe. It's the only thing that keeps his mind from flying too high or sinking too low. She needs him as much as he needs her. So, he holds on to her skin, the soft flesh beneath his palm. The heat and the life running underneath are familiar, it helps him find an anchor.

Her hand presses his against her a little more, and her tongue keeps delivering words of encouragement to his ears. _Keep breathing, Stiles,_ or _You're doing great,_ and _Come on babe, everything's alright._

 _Babe_. Every time she uses that word, it makes him smile. There was a time when she refused any term of endearment. Later, she used them to make him laugh and now... Now she calls him everything she wants with a mesmerizing light in her eyes, and when he answers her with his love on the tip of his tongue, her cheeks cast all the shades of a rose garden. It has even become a game for him. He has learned how to say _babe_ and _my love_ in every language of the countries they visit, and he remembers the ones that make her nibble at her lips the most.

"Stiles, focus," she says softly, her voice quivering with a faint laugh, because she must have spotted his smirk and understood the train of thought she has set in motion.

He leans his head against the windowpane behind him. The contact with the cold glass brings him back to reality and to his heart, which still can't follow Lydia's for more than ten seconds. Against his eyelids, luminous flashes blind him just as much as if he had been staring at the Sun. Planes pass by, higher in the sky, offering him a fleeting shadow before letting the white sky turn into circles of dazzling light again. It's a snowy sky. The co-pilot said it hasn't snowed in years here. Everyone is waiting for the cotton clouds to finally descend on the Earth and coat the streets and their souls in fuzzy feelings and childhood's memories.

Lydia brings her other hand over his abdomen, guiding its movements. It helps him refocus his attention. He covers her fingers with his. After a few seconds, his chest swells, and he starts breathing better. When he moves to look at her, she brings his knuckles to her lips and kisses them.

"Feeling better?" she asks him.

Stiles nods with a smile, letting his thumbs brush against her skin. Just like after any other panic attack, things feel unreal. He knows if he opens his mouth, words will come out in a broken parade. So instead, he holds on to Lydia a little tighter and turns his head to the left. They are in a glass corridor shaped like a tube. It's so long that it disappears far away into the airport. From their position, it's impossible to see where it ends. The purity of the sky light all around makes the scene even more surreal, and Stiles has to blink to force his mind to focus. But he can't. Lydia still seems too far away, even when he turns back to look at her.

She interlaces their fingers to ground him a little more, because Stiles is aware that she knows he always comes back to her, to his love, to his anchor. The air is shifting with the weight of their souls, rustling and shifting that anonymous atmosphere into their own bubble. He can feel it. It's all around. Lydia built a fort for them and she didn't even have to think about it. She chose a corner hidden by a pillar, and she laid down their two suitcases and their backpacks – a barrier between them and the rest of the world. She is a magician, turning a crowded airport into an intimate place, a haven for him to catch his breath. It's something she does every day, and it always leaves him with a stare full of wonder.

He reads worry in her eyes, and that's what helps his mind take the lasts steps to come back. It's the same worry he saw in the plane, only a little stronger. Tightening his hold on her, he brings her closer to him by parting his legs. Without hesitating, Lydia squeezes in between his arms, leaning her back against his chest and tucking her head in the crook of his shoulder. Their forearms and hands interlace under her breasts and they breathe together, trying to forget about the rest of the world, thickening their bubble with every breath they take. Now, Stiles barely notices the noises that were bruising his heart a few seconds earlier. It's all thanks to Lydia. He lays a tiny peck on her temple, and he feels her pushing against his mouth, so he lingers a little more, letting his nails create a trail of shivers on her forearms in their wake.

"We can go whenever you're ready..." she says, her voice trailing off on the last words as she turns her head to kiss his jaw.

Stiles's words are still lost in a haze, so he glides his hand into Lydia's curls and brings her skull to his lips, humming against it before burying his nose in her hair. Moving away from here feels impossible for now. He should have known it would come to this. The calm happiness he felt before landing was the eye of the storm. Ever since he let his emotions burst through when he was with Deaton, they haven't stopped trying to get his attention again. Enthusiasm almost choked him when the plane landed. Then, the endless wait at customs and to get their luggage turned him into a bundle of nerves, his cheeks turning redder with each shallow breath.

But in Lydia's arms, everything comes back to normal, as always.

Slowly, he feels a thick blanket offer some solace; all the voices that have awoken his mind are exhausted from screaming, and a peaceful serenity spreads. "I'm good." He lets his voice carry his words in a whisper to her ears. "And you? Are you alright?"

She turns around to let her cheek rest again his collarbone, her ear closer to his heart.

"Mmh, I'm alright, but..." As her voice trails, her fingers travel along Stiles's chest, playing with the fabric of his sweater. "I can't wait to be alone with you, just me and you... In your arms...but somewhere cozier."

"Soon," Stiles wraps his arms around her head and lays his against her forehead, completely isolating them from the outside world. "We'll rest somewhere in the afternoon, okay? Just you and me."

He feels Lydia nod and nestle even closer against him. Without a second thought, he tightens his embrace around her. She is his miracle. Parting from her feels like the worst torture anyone could imagine for him. Even for a second. He doesn't know how long the corridor is or how many steps they still have to take to reach the arrival hall, but it's already too long. He can't part form her; he needs her with him. When she glides her palms along his neck and cheek to bring his lips to hers, he lets her kiss him, long and deep. He doesn't understand why their bodies can't be one when their souls melt into one anther so easily.

Her breath is warm against his mouth when she speaks. "I knew it would be hard to share you, but… It's _really_ hard," she confesses it without averting her eyes from his and without blinking.

"You're not sharing me. I belong to you – only you."

A smile illuminates her face, and Stiles ducks down to kiss her again. He keeps stealing her breath away with small pecks that eventually turn into something more ardent when Lydia starts following him every time he pulls back. She is light-headed and so happy that she thinks her stomach will never stop swirling like it does.

"Good. 'Cause I belong to you too." Lydia smiles, forcing both of them to slow down until they are catching their breath in a tight embrace, Stiles's neck resting above Lydia's nose. "I'd be lost without you"' she finishes in a whisper.

Then, his hand finds her hair and she relaxes, their hearts beating erratically against each other.

xxxxx

Stiles doesn't know how they eventually find the strength to stand up and dive into the stream of passengers, letting their feet follow the rhythm and carry them forward. With each step, he feels his heart beat a little stronger, bringing enthusiasm to its music and making the corner of his lips curl up. He is afraid his breath will lose itself again in that drumming swirl, forget its way, but Lydia holds on tight to him. She keeps him from being blown away and losing himself in endless heights.

The corridor ends on escalators with a sign above indicating the arrival hall. They move closer, more and more, until the sign glides above their heads and the corridor disappears if they turn around. When Stiles looks at the bottom top of the stairs, all he sees is that blinding light creating a halo around the passengers slowly sliding down before disappearing to let them step into the shadows. Only an opacified glass door separates them from the arrival hall. From Scott.

They are stuck in the stream, and it forces them to move forward, but Stiles suddenly wants to stop, slow everything down and give time to his brain to absorb what is happening. But it's nearly impossible. They can already see the amount of people gathered on the other side of the door, waiting for a friend, for an acquaintance, for _family..._

Only two or three more passengers and it will be their turn. Stiles isn't ready, he wants to tell Lydia, but his mouth is too dry. It's a strange feeling. It's not anxiety, it's not fear, it's just as scary, only... positive. Suddenly, Lydia lets go of him, and the shock is enough to force his feet to stop. He turns to look at her, without understanding, and already feels the beat of his heart leap higher and higher, until they reach his throat.

"Go." Without paying any attention to the passengers grumbling behind them, she raises on her tiptoes and leans on his waist to drop a kiss on his lips. "Go find him, run. I'll be there to catch you."

Stiles only has to turn his head towards the sliding doors to see Scott, who hasn't spotted him yet. When the door closes and opens again, he sees Scott craning his head and scanning the crowd. It makes Stiles feel a pang in his stomach, something that keeps getting stronger and stronger every time the door opens to let a few passengers pass.

He averts his eyes from Scott to find Lydia again. His chest is swelling too fast, his cardiac rhythm is racing, and he knows that soon, he will lose his breath. So, he takes Lydia by the hand and moves them away from the crowd. She must understand what he needs, because she whispers his name, her warm palm cupping his cheek and her lips meeting his halfway between them.

It's not a usual kiss. It's the kind of kiss they perfected over time, the kind that reminds Stiles of their first kiss, when Lydia had given him his breath back in a kitchen in Andalusia. He remembers it with fondness. He would have never guessed back then that a kiss would have led them here.

Lydia kisses him, and she gives him his breath back. Again. But with it, comes other things. Things that Stiles hasn't identified yet, courage, love, maybe a figment of her soul.

"Go, or I'll lose the strength to let you leave," she whispers in a panting voice that makes Stiles weak in the knees.

A grin stretches on his lips, and he lets his stare swim in the emerald ocean of her irises. Sometimes, he still can't believe it. She beams at him with a smile that only exists for him. It doesn't only reach her lips, it blossoms in her eyes, colors her cheeks and travels all over her skin, runs into the bed of her muscles, and winds its way between every crevasse of her 206 precious bones until it reaches her fingers, suddenly animated with an evanescent breath of life. Their life is short, only a few seconds. They spend it looking for his own. Stiles gives them what they want. Every time. He brings his fingers closer to hers and they wind around them like magnets, resting in a final exhale. Then, Lydia nibbles at the vermillion of her lips maybe in an attempt to hold that breath, keep it inside of her a little longer.

Stiles has no idea how others see her, those nameless faces coming and going behind them through that blinding corridor and being filtered by the sliding doors. Can they see the way her cheeks slightly hollow around her mouth when she smiles at him like that? Do they realize, that in its own way, her body reshapes itself to make room for his thumbs? Give them a place to rest?

Just like earlier, Stiles responds immediately and lets his hands graze her cheeks, his thumbs following the outline of her lips before alighting around, offering a frame to the piece of art she creates for him every time. It's never the same. It's a bouquet of all the things he spends his days looking for on her features, in her breath, in her voice, and in her every movements. Treasures that only exist for him. Treasures which he tries to give back to her every time he lets his stare wander into the depth of hers, every time their breaths mingle to stir atoms that forgot the warmth of the Sun or the mildness of a summer shadow.

There's nothing between them. Lydia makes sure of it as her arms wind around his waist. In their islet in the middle of the crowd, there's nothing else but them.

Stiles has forgotten about everything. Beacon Hills, those last years, the guilt, the tears... He marvels at how different he feels under her gaze, under her touches. He has always been a commoner, always felt like one. But not with her. His cells aren't just cells anymore, they are jewel cases for the love she gives him and there isn't enough room for the rest, for ugliness, for sadness and darkness. With her, he shines.

His name passes her lips in a sigh. She reminds him just as softly that if he doesn't go to find Scott very soon, she'll keep him with her for all eternity. Here, at the end of a corridor, its beginning lost in the distance. But her eyes are glued to his mouth, and her fingers are already following the curves of his waist to find the warm nest between his lower back and his backpack to bring his hips closer to hers. From the tip of their wings, her lips brush against his, and when their mouths finally find each other, Stiles tells himself that there are worse fates. Worse than sharing the small space between the escalators and the arrival hall with the love of his life. One of his hands cups her cheek, and he lets the other glide into her hair above her ear, hugging her skull and rubbing it from the tip of his fingers until a sigh of contentment escapes Lydia's breath and loses itself in his mouth, reverberating against each of his bones.

He kisses her with the despair of a last time. In a way, it is. Next time, neither of them will be the same, something fundamental will have changed, but they don't know it yet. Stiles suspects it. It builds in the pit of his stomach, a bundle made out of sadness and excitement, and it makes him kiss Lydia again after they catch their breath.

"I miss you already." His tongue form those words without the consent of his brain, and they land on her lips in a smile, they warm up her cheeks a little more and ask her heart to beat a little stronger so Stiles's can hear it too.

"I'm here," her voice mingles with her kiss. It's softer than the kiss he gave her, so soft that Stiles doesn't dare moving out of fear of bursting the bubble of affection she just laid on his mouth. If love has a sound, it's the one their lips make when Lydia pushes back to lay her forehead against his. "Alright?" Her hands slowly glide up to his chest, flat against the fabric of his sweater. It's an instinct for her to build a nest around them. She repeats her words. "I'm here, and I'll be there to catch you, babe, I promise. Let it go, my heart. Don't be afraid."

They hold onto each other a little while longer, kissing in small pecks and whimpers until Stiles feels Lydia slightly pushing him away while taking his backpack.

"I love you," he murmurs against her lips, already feeling his blood pulsing in his fingertips. Lydia nibbles at her lips, and he can't help dropping one last peck.

"I love you too."

He only realizes he is walking away from her when his extended arm loses all contact with hers. The rest unfolds really fast. For a moment, when he crosses the glass door, he thinks that it won't be really different from his reunion with Deaton. His legs will move him forward without him even noticing it, their eyes will meet, he will feel the urge to run and hide, and he will end up bursting into tears in Scott's arms, letting go of all those years spent without his brother.

But none of this happens.

Stiles understands this moment is completely different when a loud "Scott!" bursts out of his mouth in an explosion of joy, his arms waving in the air to get his attention.

It's completely different because in the few hours that connected his reunion with Deaton and this one, there was Lydia. The emptiness left behind by his tears has been filled by her. He can feel her in every nook and cranny of his bones, every scar of his soul.

It's completely different because with each step he takes towards Scott, he feels Lydia's stare on him, her smile, her hand in his. She is holding him like a helium filled balloon, and she is waiting for his signal. He turns around one last time towards her. Scott shouts his name, and with a kiss blown from her fingertips, she lets go of the string. He isn't afraid anymore. He knows that wherever he alights, she will be there. Whether he crashes on the ground or finds a piece of Heaven in the clouds, whether he becomes a part of a bird nest in a tree or floats between ducks in a pond... She is everywhere. She will find him anywhere.

He turns around and runs to Scott. His legs are carrying him faster and faster until it feels like he is flying, and he can't stop. He needs to follow the quick pace of his heart. It could feel like a trap, but it doesn't. For once, it's not a panic attack that he sees on the horizon of his racing heart – it's freedom. His heart is telling him to hurry because he is ready, and he can't take the risk of letting anything slow him down. He feels freer than ever, as if all the latches of the prisons he has always kept locked inside of him have suddenly busted open, the strength making the last closed doors bounce against the walls and shattering them into a rain of confetti.

Their bodies crash against each other, and they both let go of everything in a sigh. Stiles closes his eyes, relishing in the arms of his brother, surrounding him with their strength and love. Around them, people are clapping their hands, but Stiles doesn't hear them. Still not parting, they exchange words that only make sense in that instant. No one else could decipher them, they only draw meaning from the countless seconds they spent hurting over the loss of their brother.

A few minutes pass by. During that time, fewer and fewer passengers walk through the glass door, and the crowd slowly disperses. The silent anxiety that has smothered Stiles for an entire week is gone, so are the louder one that took hold of him in Iceland and the gnawing terror that grabbed him by the throat to steal his breath a few minutes ago. They are all gone. All that is left is a wild emotion that prickles at his eyes and which forces him to push back and blink his tears away. Scott wipes his own cheeks from the tip of his sleeve, and laughter rises from their silent weeping.

"Stiles, I'm so happy to see you." His voice is still misty with relief and joy.

Stiles could drown in the feelings it creates in him. Scott has probably thought of this day as much as he has. He is brought back to reality by Scott's hand on his shoulder, patting him with a smile like he used to do. It's like nothing has changed. Not what matters anyway.

He gives him his pat back, clearing his throat to steady his voice, but the words still come out weak and off cue. "Yeah, me too..."

For a moment, time seems to stop. Seconds freeze, and Stiles loses himself the serenity that engulfs both of them. He thought he would feel the need to apologize, to ask for forgiveness, like it happened with Deaton. But once again, it doesn't happen. They have time to talk. Now is not the time, and maybe it will never be.

And maybe it doesn't matter.

He remembers wishing time and time again to be able to pick up their friendship where they had left it off, and he reads the same wish in his brother's eyes. Stiles doesn't know how he can tell, but it's there, as clear as a summer sky.

So, neither of them says a single word, not aloud anyway, and the darkness of those past years seems to unravel a little.

They pat each other's back again, and Stiles can't resist hugging his brother again, pulling him into a tight embrace. It's a miracle. Something that still sounded impossible a few years ago. A part of him still can't believe it, and by the way Scott clenches his fists around the back of Stiles's sweater, he knows it must be the same for him.

"How was your flight?" Scott asks.

They part, and Stiles starts telling him about the never-ending wait and the excuse for scrambled eggs they had a few hours earlier. All the while, he is scanning the crowd, looking for Lydia. He spots her and doesn't realize at first that he stops talking. There's something about her in that instant, about the whole situation, that makes his heart beat just as strong as when he saw her all that time ago in that cemetery in Marvejols. It is probably just as strong as that other day, a lifetime ago, when she told him about atoms, matter, and transformations.

Today wouldn't exist without her. It would belong to an alternate reality, a distant dream, something as impossible as reversing time to prevent Scott from being bitten. Wishful thinking.

But it's not. It's all real. There's nothing but joy and hope inside of him, and he wants nothing more in that instant than give it all to her. She is sitting on a bench facing a window, but her body is turned toward them with a leg folded underneath her. His backpack is clenched between her arms while their two suitcases are at her feet. She seems pensive, contemplating something outside in the blinding distance. She must have watched them for a while, until her own anxiety started screaming too loudly.

Stiles doesn't see the crooked grin that plays on Scott's lips when he follows his stare and understands what caught his attention. It breaks Stiles's heart to see her like that. As it turns out, she is the one who needs to be pulled back, it's her string that got lost in the leaves, branches, and stormy clouds.

And Stiles will always be there for her.

He grabs Scott's elbow without averting his eyes from Lydia and takes him to her. "Come on, there's someone I want you to meet."

As Stiles takes his first step towards her, she turns her head, already nibbling at her lips and standing up. She nervously tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and from afar, Stiles flashes a comforting grin at her, trying to make her understand she doesn't need to feel anxious, that everything is alright. In a few strides, they meet in the middle of the hall and gape at each other as if they hadn't seen each other in weeks, months even. Tenderness, love, amazement, longing… Stiles doesn't know if it's more satisfying to read those things on her features, or to know she can read the same things on his.

"Scott, I want you to meet Lydia." Without having to think about it, he pulls her to him and glides his hand in her hair to give her temple a kiss. "She's the love of my life... She saved me."

"That's only half of the story… Stiles saved me too." Her voice is so low, and she watches him with so much intensity, so closely that he almost feels shy.

Something is changing inside of him; he feels it rumbling. Knowing she is witnessing everything with that look of marvel printed all over her features is both intimidating and so intimate he could burst into tears. This has never been an ending. This is the beginning of a new life for them, and he has the proof in those gorgeous green eyes that are devouring him without barely blinking. He forces himself to come back to reality and to Scott because it's starting to set a fire in his heart and in his stomach. "Lydia," he clears his throat, smiling because his voice makes her blink several times. Her mind must have wandered to mingle with his somewhere in the white heights of the Californian sky. He hooks his index around one of her fingers and that small contact is enough to send shockwaves of electricity along his arms. She blinks again, and Stiles wonders if she felt it too. "This is Scott," he forces his stare to turn towards Scott and smiles at him, emotion coating each word with love. "He is my best friend, my brother."

He pats Scott's shoulder, stifling a sob as he feels his hand over his. Scott reaches out to Lydia, smiling at her warmly, and she automatically respond to his gesture. "Nice to meet you. I've heard so much about you."

Stiles sniffles through his tears and so do Scott and Lydia. Everything is happening really slowly now, but none of them seem to be interested in hurrying things up. From the outside, that scene has nothing extraordinary, especially in an airport, but it's far from ordinary. If people around knew how many miracles were hidden behind each word, each gesture and each stare, maybe they would admire it for a few seconds as they pass by them. But maybe they all have their own miracles going on too. Who knows how many miracles are surrounding them?

Lydia is trembling against his side. Stiles doesn't know if it's her anxiety rushing back into her or if just like him, and probably just like Scott, she is trying to savor each of those emotions cascading over them.

Before he can react, Scott is already opening his arms to her. "Can I hug you? You're family now, after all..."

In the way he looks at her, Stiles recognizes everything that has always made Scott... Scott. It's a wide and honest smile, it makes his pupils sparkle and his voice warmer. Lydia nods, and Stiles feels her weigh a little more against him, relaxing before she even moves to accept Scott's embrace.

"Welcome in the family, Lydia."

"Thanks." It's only a murmur, but Stiles can hear all of the emotion and relief contained in that small word. It's enough to fill him with an unrestrained joy.

Scott gives her shoulder a small pat when they part, and Lydia smiles. When she sneaks against Stiles's side, winding her arm around his waist, letting her seek the warmth under his sweater, he doesn't feel any tension in her anymore.

"Kira didn't come with you?" asks Stiles.

"She wanted to come, but she had morning sickness... Not fun," Scott winces and takes the biggest suitcase, smiling at them as he straightens up. "Come on, I'm driving you home."

Lydia links her hand with Stiles's and the three of them head towards the exit.

xxxxx

She feels good when they step out of the airport. It's an odd sensation because barely a few minutes earlier, when she was watching Stiles and Scott's first embrace in years, anxiety had found its way through her.

There was a man.

It wasn't her father, but he might as well have been. He was talking on the phone with a harsh tone, standing tall before the windows, and his stare had absently landed on her. It was cold, distant, filled with anger and frustration. For a moment, Lydia had felt like she wouldn't be able to escape her past, she had left a part of herself in California, and that part was still hurting. It was her responsibility to take it in her arms and soothe it once and for all. Apprehension had built a lump in her throat, making her feel like she was trapped, but a tugging around her heart had made her turn her head and it was all gone.

Stiles.

She was here for Stiles, for _them_. He had made her realize that she didn't need to face her past if she didn't want to. If their present, if the prospect of their life together was enough to erase the rest, she didn't need to do anything she didn't want.

She has the proof in the sense of lightness she has kept getting ever since. There is so much happiness in Stiles that it must anchor her to the Earth, to the present, the living. Even more than usual.

Stiles's hand in hers is guiding her, he speaks softly to Scott, asking him about their plans with Kira because neither of them wants to talk about what _was_. What _will be_ is far more exciting. She closes her eyes for a second, focusing on Stiles's thumb caressing her skin and making her feel like she belongs with them, letting her know she can join the conversation whenever she is ready. It's an incredible feeling, one she wants to savor as long as she can. It feels like being in the middle of a raging ocean, with waves threatening to sink their worn-out ship. But they are safe. Something seems to protect them. And from the inside, Lydia has to admit that there is a beauty to the storm. One she never thought she would notice, and one she probably will never want to see again. The beauty of darkness, of Hell is that it's telling her that maybe she has the strength to just let it slide. Glare at that man who could be her father, feel the anger that comes with it and let it go away. No need to face it, no need to struggle, no need to suffer more. Just the right amount. Until it melts under the warmth of Stiles's palm.

Her lids are still keeping her safe from the environment. The sounds that the wheels of her suitcase make behind her and Stiles's presence are linking her to reality. That's enough for now. She allows her mind to wander a little, appreciate the cold breeze on her nose and the particular scent of the snow that's eager to fall. She imagines the snowflakes, excited and fidgeting upon them. It makes her smile.

They stop, and Lydia opens her eyes. They have to stand in another line to pay the parking fees. While they wait, Scott turns to Stiles, looking worried.

"I um… Just so it's not a big surprise when we get to the car, you have to know I drove here with the Jeep."

That statement makes everything else disappear in Lydia's mind. She feels Stiles tense beside her. She knows now what that car represents for him. So, she squeezes his hand, and it helps her remember that _this_ is why she is there. She is there for Stiles. Her past doesn't need her attention, he does.

He smiles hesitantly at Scott. "Good… I've missed her."

Even without knowing Scott, Lydia can see relief wash over him. Stiles has already told her about his Jeep. She knows what it represents, and she knows it won't be that easy. Scott probably knows it too. She pulls on Stiles's arm to get his attention when Scott turns away to insert his ticket in the automaton.

Stiles lets his backpack slide from his shoulders and brings Lydia a few feet away from the line.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing," he whispers to her ear. "You don't have to be this strong for me. I saw how scared you were earlier. You don't have to pretend."

"I know. I'm not. I just want to be here for you." She rises on her tiptoes, letting the handle of her suitcase go to wrap her fingers around Stiles's forearm. She waits a little before letting their lips connect. She waits until her breath is mingling with his to form a smile on their lips. "I'm alright, Stiles, okay? I want this."

Stiles pulls away slightly, giving his head the time to nod, and Lydia already feels irresistibly drawn closer to his lips, its beating resonating more and more in her whole body. She lets their lips find themselves again, seeking more comfort in a dance they know by heart. Stiles's lips are warm against hers, full and so tender that she loses all sense of time and reality. At the same time, their bodies seek more closeness too and a sigh escapes Lydia. She lets her hand roam along his ribs and feels life pulsing in his veins underneath. It's so strong she's afraid he could lose his way too.

Lydia doesn't know when it happens exactly, but she suddenly realizes that his lips aren't on hers anymore. She is completely engulfed by him, his arms locked tight at her back, one hand behind her skull, cupping it like they had been both made by the other, sculpted to fit together. The same thing happens with her cheek and the crook of his neck, as well as her hands and the space between his shoulder blades. It's not the first time Lydia realizes how well they fit, but it's the first time it hits her this hard, the first time it resonates inside of her like a song she had always longed for, each note triggering something inside of her, stirring feelings that somehow feel new. An entire new world is theirs to discover and she holds on tighter to Stiles until she can interlock her forearms behind his neck. Stiles presses her a little closer to him, running his mouth along her skull until it reaches her ear.

"You know I'm right there with you, right? Whatever happens. I'm here," he tells her.

Then, he plants a kiss on the rim of her ear, warming it up with his hot breath, and she nods.

"I know."

Slowly, they disentangle and meet Scott who is just turning around to look for them. He smiles at them in that way that already makes Lydia feel welcomed, and with a pat on Stiles's back, they walk towards the Jeep.

xxxxx

Stiles has helped Lydia climb in the front seat, refusing to drive, and refusing to leave Lydia alone in the back seat. He is still frozen next to her, his right hand securely tucked between hers on her lap. Lydia is watching him closely as Scott gives them some time to adjust. She lets the wave of her love for him engulf her, give her enough strength to be the shield he needs. She doesn't need to listen to his heartbeat to know it's beating too fast, to know he is losing himself in his memories. To pull him back to her, to help him breathe better, she tenderly brushes his knuckles and slowly, she sees his pupils focusing again, getting smaller and smaller. His chest stops swelling too quickly and eventually, he blinks, his eyes already seeking hers. She smiles at him, mouthing _I love you_ while her grasp on him loosens a little.

With a smile, he lays a kiss on her temple, letting his nails run along her forearm. As Scott is sitting behind the wheel, Stiles closes Lydia's door and sits behind her.

"Sure you don't want to drive?" Scott asks one last time, glancing at Stiles through the interior mirror.

"Yeah… Tomorrow, maybe…" His voice stretches in the silence that follows, distant gaze riveted on the steering wheel. Lydia tilts her shoulder to the side to look at him and sees one corner of his mouth curl up. It's so subtle she could have missed it if she didn't know him so well, if she didn't feel each of his slightest movements in each of her cells. If she hadn't spent the last months marveling at him. But today, it's all she can see, a small burst of Sun, a fragment of hope that makes her chest expand enough to welcome it.

Stiles is right behind her, sitting forward enough that she can brush her hand against his cheek, her fingers drawn by this quivering little miracle. The gesture wakes Stiles up, and his eyes glide from the steering wheel to Lydia. Both sides of his mouth curl up now to form a real smile, and the brown of his irises glow, reflecting the only ray of sunshine they seem to have found in that blinding whiteness. He leans his cheek into her palm to kiss her skin and repeats one word. "Tomorrow…"

The first hour of the drive unfolds smoothly. Lydia can't stop throwing glances at Stiles through the rear-view mirror. He is chatting with Scott as if nothing ever happened, as if they were just continuing a conversation that they started the day before. Many thousands of days have gone by but hearing them talk and act with so much ease makes her even more certain that time is relative in every sense of the word.

Ever since they left the airport, she hasn't felt like an intruder once. Everything is explained to her in details and each detail leads them to talk about something else. They laugh a lot, and Lydia can tell how much that sound means to both of them every time. Scott glances in the interior mirror to look at Stiles when he is laughing, and she can see the way this sound always seems to make him blink more. He is holding back his tears. She only catches glimpses of Stiles, but she knows he is doing the same. He keeps patting Scott's shoulder like he can't believe he is here, in flesh and bones. They are so endearing Lydia has to eventually turn her head towards her window to hide her tears from them. She doesn't want to bring attention to herself. This moment belongs to them.

Stiles keeps scooching forward until he can lean his elbows between the two of them. Something in their attitude tells Lydia they are easily falling back into a routine that used to be a second skin for them. They trust each other, Stiles trusts that Scott will drive them safely to their destination, whatever that might be. It's easy to picture them in high school, picking each other up, talking as much as they can until they arrive, and continuing to talk when the car is parked.

Stiles's sleeve keeps brushing her shoulder. His laughter and his voice seem to have gained a life of their own. They keep moving closer to her ear before gliding back and doing it all over again, always seeming to take her love in a never-ending waltz that makes Lydia dizzy.

He is restless next to her and such warmth is radiating from him that Lydia is unable to focus on anything else. She has never seen him like this. She is hypnotized by his image in the rear-view mirror. She lets her whole body surrender to the magnetic force that always draws them towards each other. After a while, she realizes that Stiles's restlessness has evaporated to be replaced by something more powerful. He is still leaning on his elbows between them, steady, taking all the space he needs. His voice is calmer, but still warm, still smiling.

Lydia turns her head to look at him, and the second he feels her stare on him, he averts his eyes from Scott to look at her with a smile as bright as his voice. Her heart stops for a second and something swirls in her stomach. Just the way it used to do in high school, when she could feel him scanning the crowd to find her or when she was trying to catch a glimpse of him at the back of a bus leading them to a part of a beach that has been abandoned since, according to Scott.

It's not that this feeling of attraction is new to her, but today, she perceives something else. Or at least, something she had forgotten, locked behind a heavy door with a key she had tried to lose.

It's Stiles.

She sees him above her as clearly as she sees him before her now.

An amber light among the stars. A glow of golden-brown above her on the Lacrosse field as a monster was trying to drag her into its darkness.

She recognizes him now, remembers the warmth of his presence. Too far away for their skin to connect, but close enough for something inside of her to reach out to him. She remembers his superhuman strength, she remembers his eyes… soothing, beautiful, comforting. She remembers the contrast with the wet grass under her torn dress, the unpleasant sensation of her blood running down open wounds, the feeling of being trapped under a stranger's body, too heavy, too threatening. The terror at the idea of dying without knowing the reasons and the certainty to have found a lifeline in those eyes she barely knew.

She had forced her brain to stay alert just a few seconds, but it had been enough. Even in the dark, she had visualized his eyes, hanging on to them with all the strength she could find in her tetanized muscles, in her terrified soul. She had focused on that ball of raw energy that was trying to reason with a monster.

Their voices were metallic. The blood in her ears and her general dizziness had prevented her from understanding a single word, but she had felt everything. Her soul had been consumed by darkness; she had died… But with the power of his love, Stiles had retrieved her, brought back to him, to the world. In that storm, Lydia had anchored herself to him with everything she had left, clutching his soul, this gorgeous brown she had never dared to stare at directly. Is this how he became her tether to the world?

A soft pressure on her shoulder makes her come back to reality. Stiles is still watching her, and silence has coated everything in the car. Scott is doing all he can to give them the illusion of being alone. Lydia knows by now he can scent their emotions. If he has noticed something about her, he doesn't say anything, and Lydia is grateful.

Stiles's index traces invisible letters on her shoulder that she memorized a long time ago. They are the same ones his eyes are drawing in the air when he looks for her. His tongue knows them too and whispers them in every kiss, his hands know them, his body… They are all extracts from the love letters he writes her every day, thousands of tiny poems that has become their lives, the ones she never tires of and that she intends to cherish until the very end. With time, she has composed her own alphabet, one that fills the spaces between each of his words, between each of his commas, and that have formed new words around them, which Stiles learned to adjust to his own. He brought colors to all the white spaces left on their pages.

Lydia tilts her head slightly to lean against his shoulder. She closes her eyes, letting the purring sound of the engine and the even rhythm of the Jeep lull her into a peaceful sleep.

Soon, the first "Beacon Hills" sign will appear. It will be right after the next sharp left turn. But it isn't right now, they still have a little time. Stiles lays a kiss on her temple, and the boys resume their conversation. She barely listens to them, letting Stiles's voice bring her far away from the Hell they are about to enter. His left hand is lightly resting over her right shoulder, his thumb tracing some circles from time to time. Despite her sweater, she can feel the movement. Every time she feels him tense, her chest shrinks, but his thumb is there to bring her back to him. Like he has always done.

xxxxx

It's the engine coming to a stop that wakes her. For a few seconds, her lungs seem to collapse around her heart. Are they already _there_? With a start, she straightens in her seat and looks around. They are stopped in a gas station, the one with a sign that reads: _Motel – Not expensive_ which has always pointed towards an empty space on the other side of the road.

Next to her, Scott is unfastening his seat belt and smiles at her when he sees her stirring. "It's leaking gas, again… I thought I fixed it, but apparently not. I just need a minute to refill the tank. It should be enough for now."

Lydia nods and as he climbs out of the car, Stiles is already inching forward to hook his arms around her shoulder and burry his nose in the mass of her hair. They don't say a word, but Lydia already feels the air around them weigh heavier, so she hangs on tight to his forearms, knowing that between the two of them, they will we able to chase the shadows away, to keep them at bay. Far enough to be able to breathe.

They are not in Beacon Hills yet, but Lydia knows they are close. She _feels_ it somehow. But they are together, and it helps. It helps a lot. She realizes that Stiles's arms around her are forming a second seat belt, and that she is protecting him too with her whole body. Everything will have to go through her first before getting to him. They will protect each other, like they always have. This thought unties the knot in her throat. As her chest swells slowly to gather enough oxygen, Stiles lifts his head too. Then, she feels his lips on the back of her skull.

"We'll be alright," he whispers half for himself and half for her.

For her answer, she lays her lips on his wrist and stays there, inhaling deeply. "Yeah, we will…"

Stiles breathes in and lets his forehead rest against the nape of her neck.

Since her departure from Beacon Hills years ago, Lydia has always pictured her return as a failure, the disappointing end of a story without any surprise, without any light. Her story.

But she was wrong. That return isn't an ending.

She is scared, of course, she feels her stomach twist at the single sight of a familiar name around her, a familiar landscape… Her heart must fight to bring enough oxygen to her muscles. But behind all of this, there's a muffled exhilaration that she can only associate with a beginning. The start of a new chapter, a new book…

A new story. The story of Stiles and Lydia returning to say good-bye to their past and to this town of nightmares… for good.

They untangle a few seconds before the front door opens, but Stiles keeps his arms draped around Lydia's shoulders. Scott climbs inside with a pack of Capri-Sun in his hands and an apologetic look. Once seated, he gives one to each of them. "Sorry, I wanted something a little more…" he pauses for a second and shrugs. "Well, more… But it was all the guy has left. I thought we needed some kind of pick-me-up before entering town… And besides, this is all Kira has been drinking lately, so…"

He is staring expectantly at both of them, but Stiles is already laughing, and Lydia can't hold her smile either. Soon enough, Scott follows Stiles, and Lydia does too. It's good to laugh like that. For no particular reason. It's a good way to tell all those shadows, that darkness, that tension that they shouldn't loom over them, they have each other and they will laugh everything away.

Stiles is the first one to plant his tiny straw in the plastic pouch. He raises it between them, and the two others mimic his gesture. The three of them stare at each other, smiling, savoring the moment. Lydia has never felt anything like this. She belongs to this group – this _family._ Tears start to well up in her eyes. With a flick of her hand to wipe them off, she asks the question they all have in mind. "To what are we drinking?"

Scott raises his pouch a little higher after a few seconds of hesitation, "To new beginnings?"

Stiles nods and lets his meet Scott's above their heads. "To new beginnings," he winks at Lydia and waits for his smile to reach her lips.

She joins them too, and she feels tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. She is about to dry them with her sleeve when she sees that the same emotion is making the boys' eyes shine just as brightly as hers must be. So, she lets her tears roll down her cheeks, she tastes them at the corner of her mouth and smiles, savoring that salty serenity that is slowly taking roots in her. She remembers that freedom tasted like salt a few months ago around the Black Sea, she understands why now. In Stiles's irises, she picks up a fragment of sun, the one that clouds keep hiding in distance stretches of the sky. She understands with certainty that this ending is nothing like an ending at all. They are turning the last page of something to open the door to a new life. It starts with this return.

Her voice is filled with fidgeting emotions when she speaks. Each of them tickles her throat when she releases the air to form the last words of a story which she had never imagined would end like this. "To new beginnings".


	22. Clarence

**These were the thoughts I dreamed,**  
 **connected, but meandering:**  
 **Life is gorgeous.**  
 **Every tiny thing about it,**  
 **even the things that make our eyes wet,**  
 **even the things that feel**  
 **like they are strangling our tiny hearts.**  
 **This is one gigantic picture, and we**  
 **are all a part, we are single stiches on a**  
 **tapestry of human emotion,**  
 **we walk on a quilt of laughter**  
 **and tears and heartache and**  
 **such immense joy**  
 **and it just shines.**  
 **If you just look,**  
 **through it**  
 **all,**  
 **everything radiates.**

 **\- Tyler Knott Gregson –**

With one hand on the light switch, Stiles waits for Scott, Kira, and Melissa to reach their bedrooms upstairs.

The last staircase cracks under each of their steps.

From that faint crack, a cascade of memories floods his mind. He lets them wash over him with a bashful elation. Hours have gone by since he entered that house for the first time in a decade, but everything still wears the halo of miracles.

He eventually turns the light off, letting a night as black as ink engulf the house. Nothing filters from the outside. The clouds, still soggy with snow, won't let the Moon or any star illuminate the Earth tonight. A long yawn forces him to shut his eyes. It must be around midnight which means he has been up for more than thirty hours. The thought only stiffens his muscles.

Trying to make as little noise as he can, he turns around to reach the spare bedroom where Lydia must be already sleeping. She went to bed around 9 p.m. when Stiles woke her up because she was falling asleep on his shoulder. He is already considering the idea of sleeping in his underwear. He won't have the strength to go through his stuff to find his pajamas, and he won't be able to do it quietly anyway… But he opens the door and finds Lydia sitting cross-legged in the red armchair next to the bed. She has turned on the bedside lamp and is leafing through their notebook, her pretty head resting heavily in her right palm as the corners of her mouth curl up the way they always do when she daydreams. She doesn't hear him entering the bedroom right away, and Stiles gapes at her as all signs of fatigue are getting swallowed by a much more powerful force. The door closing makes her lift her head, and she beams at him in a way he hopes is reflecting on his features.

"I thought I would find you asleep."

Lydia lets her stare drift to the photos in the notebook, caressing something he can't see.

"I was…" She turns to look at him when he sits next to her on the bed, her dimples making her entire face gleam with love, a pretty hue of pink coloring her cheeks. "But I can't sleep alone anymore… I could blame you for that."

"Yeah…" She is already reaching out to him when his hand seeks hers to intertwine their fingers over her knee. "I know what you mean." He winks at her before leaning in and pecks her lips. The same things seem to hypnotize both of them for a while, they let the seconds pass and stretch all around them. "Why didn't you come back if you couldn't sleep anymore?"

A shadow darkens her smile, and Stiles brings her knuckles to his lips. "I uh… I wanted to, I almost did. But I… I couldn't."

"You got scared…" He doesn't have to ask her, a simple glimpse at her face is enough for him to know. He sits on the edge of the mattress and props his elbow against her armrest to cradle her cheek. "Why?"

Hesitating briefly, Lydia eventually turns her head towards the wall adjacent to the door and points at it with her chin. Stiles follows the direction and freezes as her jaw twitches faintly under his thumb and her fingers hook his wrist. It's a set of photos, magnified and framed; family pictures from over the years. His heart leaps into his throat, and he slowly stands up to get closer. He recognizes almost all of those pictures, he remembers them because he was there, because he is part of them. But two pairs of eyes hypnotize him more than others. The deep blue ones of his dad and the laughing browns of his mom. The only pictures he has of them are in his mom's notebook. These photos are both old and new, they awake in him the echoes of an earthquake he thought had destroyed everything. But underneath the dirt and ruins lie those eyes and within them, his parents in flesh and bone. He had never felt their presence so strongly in years. Like a reflex, his index is already moving towards them, maybe a part of him wishes he could reach their ghosts through the glass and the glossy paper, beyond the memories and the veil of death. But he doesn't dare, holding still when the skin of his index starts to tingle from the contact with the cold surface. He sniffs and slowly tucks his hand in his pocket.

Lydia is right behind him, he can sense her. He turns around and sees her fidgeting in a really familiar way. He doesn't need more to understand.

"You belong too, you know," he says softly as he moves towards her, close enough to soothe her restlessness.

The contact with his skin coaxes her muscles to stop twitching and she gapes at him, nodding. "I… I just need some time."

"I know," Stiles lets his body answer hers like it always does and cups the back of her head, wrapping his other arm around her waist. Lydia hugs him tightly back, her fingers interlocked behind his back. "I want you to feel good here – at home. Take the time you need."

"Thanks… I do feel good." She shuts her eyes, her head nestled against his collarbone.

He hears the sound of her inhales. She is breathing him in, and even after so many months, it still astounds him. He does the same, peaceful joy tugging at his lips.

After a moment, she resumes in a more relaxed voice. "It will be alright, I know it. And you looked so happy that it made _me_ happy."

Stiles lets out a faint chuckle before kissing her skull.

"Yeah… I would have never dared hoping it could go this well."

Silence settles in, and they start swinging from side to side. Stiles thinks he could fall asleep like this when Lydia calls him back to reality.

"Go put on your pajamas so we can keep talking under the blanket."

"Mmh, good idea," he whispers, her hair tickling his skin.

He follows her movements as she unwinds from his embrace to snuggle under the thick blanket, her head nestling on the pillow with a sigh of contentment. Only her eyes are peeking through, but he can spot her smile in them; a smile as obvious as her tiredness. She struggles to keep her eyelids open. Keep them open long enough to watch him come to her. Like she knows he always does.

The shadows that were dimming the light in her beautiful green irises are all gone, she seems peaceful. As Stiles rifles through his luggage to find his pajamas, he lets a wave of relief wash over him. He has been so afraid. Last week, the entire day… Now, they are here, and Lydia is waiting for him to join her with a smile. A tired smile, but a smile. It's all that matters.

Stiles has observed Lydia a lot since they found Scott at the airport. He has been on the lookout for any signs that would betray her anguish, but the only ones he saw were easily dismissed with a word whispered in her ear, or a firm embrace.

Entering Beacon Hills had been difficult for both of them.

* * *

The instant they passed the highway sign, silence had descended on the car like a lid. Stiles and Lydia weren't leaving each other, his arms still wrapped around Lydia's shoulders from behind and her hands clutching his sleeve.

Her pulse beat against his wrist when they had crossed the road leading to their former high school. Stiles held his breath as something strong was irresistibly drawing him in that direction, completely deaf to his own heart pleading him to look in another direction, any other direction.

"It burnt."

Scott's voice had cut the air like a knife, sending shock waves reverberating through Stiles's body and making the tension in the car falter slightly. He felt Lydia quiver too and laid his lips on the back of her skull.

"Everything? Even the… outside? The lacrosse field?" she asked; the question leaving her mouth in a choked and barely audible voice.

Imperturbable with his stare fixed on the road, Scott had answered in a composed voice, "Everything."

Stiles saw him swallow thickly and understood in his tone of voice that there was more to that story, that Scott knew more than that. After pondering whether he should continue the conversation or not, Stiles eventually asked, "What… What happened?"

Their eyes met in the rear-view mirror, sending a shiver down Stiles's spine. There were a lot of things in Scott's stare. Determination and something more vulnerable, something like fear, guilt.

"It was a long time ago during a summer break. There was nobody around at the time, and everything burnt in a few hours. They don't know what happened."

From his position, Stiles could feel Lydia's lungs swell, her heart beat fast. "Good." It was the only word she managed to articulate, but her entire being sagged against the backseat with a relieved sigh.

"Yeah, good." Stiles and Scott had glanced at each other in the rear-view mirror as Stiles had repeated Lydia's words. Unwinding his embrace from Lydia for a second, he had patted Scott's back. "It's a good thing."

The trace of a timid grin played on Scott's lips and with a last glimpse in the mirror, Stiles saw every sign of vulnerability fade from his eyes.

Time had accelerated when the Jeep took the last turn, and Stiles spotted Melissa and Kira outside the house, their sight making all the ghosts haunting those streets in daunting parades disappear.

Melissa hadn't changed much. Light wrinkles started to imprint an eternal joy on her face. She had always smiled. That's how Stiles remembered her during all those years, giving him the same genuine and large smile she gave to her own son, knowing she couldn't offer them a lot more to help bear the weight they had taken upon their shoulders. Some days, that smile had been harder to maintain than others. After Allison's death, Noah's… The ground had collapsed under Scott and Stiles's feet. Their legs had been too weak to lift them up, so despite her own pain, she smiled at them.

Every single day.

Stiles had always been aware of the strength she summoned to send them that frail light in the darkness. He had always known that once she was alone, that smile would quiver, that it would be made uncertain by her tears until it got wiped away by the stream. Today, an eternal happiness was playing on her features, a way life had found to relieve her from a terrible weight.

She hugged Stiles as soon as he stepped out of the car, and her perfume funneled into his memory, bringing back more fragrances and colors, more life. He had to bend down a little to hug her, but he had never felt smaller or younger. In her arms, he felt like a child. Letting out soft sobs, he had barely noticed her hand rubbing his back. And her voice – her voice was the voice of a mom trying to soothe her son after a nightmare. "It's over, Stiles. It's over now. You're home."

With the same affection, she welcomed Lydia too.

Then, there was Kira. Years and pregnancy had transformed her. Stiles still remembered a slender teenager, a bit shy maybe, but full of light and with an easy smile. She was different; something had changed. Stiles didn't know if it was her hair, the way she dressed, the way she _was_ … It was as if the kindness that had always been inside of her decided it was time to come out of its hiding spot and adorn her entire being, her every gesture. She kept a hand on the small of her back and extended her other arm towards him with a grin, then kissing his cheek. Neither said a thing, but she tightly gripped the collar of his sweater and her breath quivered, holding back sobs. They both wiped invisible tears on their cheeks when they pushed back.

Stiles introduced her to Lydia, and they had all started to talk outside until a gust of brisk wind forced them to go inside.

The afternoon, or what was left of it, went by in a snap. Stiles couldn't even say precisely what they had talked about. Neither he nor Lydia was hungry, but they didn't refuse a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when offered. It tasted like childhood, like a 4 p.m. snack, like those long afternoons spent in their backyards, pretending to be someone they weren't, living adventures in faraway lands and dreaming of the life they have today.

Lydia was peaceful, but her small hand would tremble sometimes, seeking his under the table. He would hold it over his knee, caressing her skin and squeezing – softly enough to not hurt her, but tight enough to anchor her. She had whispered to him in the dark of the night once that she had no idea how, for years, he could have endured what he had been through. While she never really had a family and suffered from it, Stiles had one… and lost it. He didn't answer but opened his arms for her in one of those cuddles that would always take over when words were failing.

This past afternoon, the same emotion made her tremble. A wave of love that engulfed her wholly. Stiles had felt it too. The only thing he could do was to reach out, to hold her however he could, and help her keep her head above the water. He had asked her several times if she wanted to slip away with him to isolate themselves as he had promised at the airport, but she had refused each time.

When they had gone back to the Jeep to get the rest of their luggage, it was already night. Lydia grabbed Stiles's elbow, taking a step back from the others.

"It's going well, right?" All her attention was riveted on him, nervousness written all over her features, her body communicating a tension she had tried to keep at bay until then.

Stiles smiled at her while some memories of the afternoon washed over him: The delight in Melissa's voice when she had told Lydia everything she could remember about the child Stiles was. The way Scott had paid attention to her, making sure she wasn't left alone when Kira or Melissa would take him aside. The words Kira had whispered to him with a satisfied grin and a wink in the kitchen, _I like her. She's fun, and she's even smarter than you are. Keep her._

"It's going perfectly," he had answered with a peck on Lydia's temple, squeezing her hands in his.

* * *

Stiles is brought back to the present when Lydia asks him the same question. "It went well, right? They didn't find it odd that I went to bed so early?"

Her question and the vulnerability in her voice tugs at his core in an affectionate smile. As he turns around, adjusting his pajama shirt, she is still looking at him, her face half covered by the blanket and half bathed in a dim yellow light. Kneeling beside her with his chin resting over his forearms, he reaches out with one finger to pull the blanket down and free the rest of her face.

"You were perfect." He doesn't speak too loudly, just enough so that his words reach Lydia. "As always." Outlining her chin with the tip of his thumb, he connects his lips to hers in a slow and warm kiss. Everything is soft, from the sound of their breathless sighs, to the rustling of the blanket, to her languid caresses in his hair.

"Come join me," she whispers against his mouth as a delicate whimper escapes Stiles.

He stands up and his fatigued body crashes on the bed with a loud sigh, it feels like finally resting on the shore after hours of swimming against the current. Lydia turns around and without a word, helps him get under the blanket. Being pressed against her under a heavy and thick blanket is a blessing. It feels like melting into her arms, like they can finally be _one_. He could fall asleep right after Lydia turns the light off, but he won't. There is a question he needs to ask her.

"Lyds?"

"Mmh?" Her voice vibrates against the skin of his neck, waking him up enough to shape his worries into words.

"How do you feel?"

"What do you…" It's too dark to see her, but the soft pressure of her head leaves its spot and Stiles cups her cheek to meet her gaze.

"Oh… You mean the…" She can't finish her sentence, so she nestles her nose in the crook of his neck again, stiffening her grip around his waist.

As she takes a deep inhale, Stiles slowly caresses the back of her skull. They had talked about it. It's Beacon Hills after all, and it's possible that the nightmares, the voices, and the darkness would come back and haunt her.

"Do you sense _things_ here?"

"It's um… It's heavier. Kind of like in the car when we were driving through town. I can sense _something_ but…"

To help her find her words, Stiles hugs her tighter against him.

"It won't hurt me, not like Peter. It's just…dark, heavy...cold. You know?"

"Yeah, I think I feel it too. I think I always have, but I had forgotten what it really felt like…" At those words, her muscles around him relax.

"It's lighter in this house…or when you hold me like that."

A soft snigger escapes Stiles's breath. "Well, then I guess we'll have to stay like this forever." A long yawn stops him, and he resumes, "It's fine by me."

Her breath travels upwards, warming up the skin of his neck and chin, until it reaches his mouth and the wet, comforting presence of her lips is against his. She kisses him slowly but firmly, fighting the fatigue that is slowly taking hold of every one of her muscles and bones. Stiles helps her, hovering over her until his muscles can't support his weight anymore, and they both let their heads sink into their pillow.

When Lydia speaks, Stiles recognizes that drowsy tone she always gets in her voice when she is already half asleep. "It's gonna be alright, Stiles. Don't worry. We just need to pull, each on our side."

"What do you mean?"

"That connection between us… It's gonna be alright because I'm holding tight onto my end of the thread. You just need to keep pulling me to you."

"Always, Lyds," he kisses her eyelids as he clutches her to him, wrapping her whole body as if she would crumble into pieces without him. "I'll always be there."

"Mmh…"

He feels the soft graze of her skin running over his thigh and hip before settling on his lower back.

"Me too," she whispers in a sigh before falling asleep. Stiles follows her immediately.

* * *

When Lydia wakes, she isn't expecting to find Stiles against her. They haven't moved the entire night, she realizes. She relishes in the feeling of his warm neck right against her nose, his hands and arms draped around her frame under the covers, some hot points of contact between their skins, their legs tangled up… It rarely happens. One of them usually has to find their way back into their nest. But they were so tired when they drifted off, sleep must have weighed on them more than she had thought it would.

Stiles isn't awake yet, she can tell by the way he lightly snores, his regular intakes of breathes, and his complete stillness. The window is behind her, and she can hear the wind. She imagines a grey sky covered in thick snowy clouds. The thought alone makes her shiver. She buries herself deeper under the blanket, gingerly bundling up closer to Stiles and letting the heat of his skin seep through the layer of his pajamas until it reaches her. He is so warm, the blanket so thick, and everything around them is so soft…

The word "nestling" has never been more accurate. She could spend an eternity or two like this – the sound of his breathing, the steadiness of his pulse, his scent, the weight of his limbs, and the wetness of his lips against her forehead. It all builds up around her until it almost feels like they have merged into one being. Everything is still and quiet inside, while outside, the sound of the wind and the screech of one or two birds fighting the breeze creates a perfect contrast. It's impossible to hate the cold in Stiles's arms, she thinks, beaming against his chest.

The memory of her first English winter comes to mind. It had been a shock, but she had quickly developed an unconditional love for those scarfs the size of a small blanket. She used to wrap them around herself until they covered her shoulders and nose, and it felt like she hadn't left her bed.

Winters have never been this cold in Beacon Hills. Stiles had gently scoffed at her at the airport in Reikjavik when she had realized she wouldn't be able to wear those scarfs anymore. It saddened her, but she doesn't think about it this morning. In her veins, a sudden frenzy is pulsing. A craving for a milder cold, going out in the winter wearing only a jacket and a thin scarf maybe. She wants to rediscover all her old habits that shaped her childhood, but mostly, she wants to experience adult life here. Here, in her country.

She had never thought about what that meant _– her country_. It never had any meaning; nothing positive happened here. She has never felt attached to any country in particular, never felt like she _had_ a country. But now, with Stiles, she is home everywhere, and she thinks maybe they will be able to put something behind the words _their country_. If they can do that, she knows they'll be able to be anywhere in the world and still know where their roots are.

As she lets her mind drift towards daydreams, she remembers a coffee shop halfway between her house and the high school. Every morning, she would see people in suits coming out of it with cardboard cups the size of two hands. Every morning, she envied them, wanted to do the same. That was her idea of adult life at fifteen years old. Stopping mid-way in her way to work in the morning to get a fancy coffee and take sips at every red light until she gets to her office and puts it next to her computer. The thought makes her scoff, and she nuzzles up closer against Stiles's neck. If she had known… She remembers being determined to buy a coffee like those people. In preparation, she had taken notes of every drink and studied them so she would know exactly what to order. There was no way she would go there and make a fool of herself.

But she never had the chance to try. Peter happened, and nothing was ever the same.

Maybe that coffee shop doesn't exist anymore, but it feels like she owes it to herself to check.

With Stiles.

Stiles…

Her stare floats towards him, her sleeping angel, his lips parted against the pillow next to her forehead. She knows it wouldn't take much to wake him up. Even if her limbs are heavy with tiredness, she can also almost sense every one of his cells being drawn to her, their entire attention focused on her. All it would take would be to shift slightly and kiss her way up from his neck to his mouth, let herself get engulfed by his warmth, his comforting body and his morning voice. But Lydia restrains herself. He needs his sleep.

She knows she will have to continue to do the same in the days or weeks to come because there is something else she is dying to see. His former house, his home, the place where his parents brought up the perfect man he has become. But he isn't ready, and she would never force him. Who knows in what condition they will find the house? Even discreetly asking Scott would be out of place. She will have to give Stiles all the time he needs.

Noises from somewhere in the house are reaching her ears, telling her that the day is slowly beginning. She groans faintly, not wanting to leave the shelter Stiles has built for her with his body.

Maybe if she closes her eyes, sleep would reclaim her… but there is too much excitement in her muscles, too much twitchiness. Agreeing to lose this fight, she gets lost in her contemplation of Stiles. Watching him sleep has always brought her serenity. She can't say it relaxes her because her entire being is begging her to cuddle deeper into him, but she is serene. Nothing else matters. She is where she is supposed to be. All their troubles, their questions, they are all still here, but they are no heavier than a feather. Everything will be alright.

She can tell he feels the same. Peacefulness is written all over him. As the day slowly emerges, she takes in the sight of him; his moles highlighted by a faint ray of light, his cheekbones, how the brown of his hair turns the color of chestnuts, brighter, richer…

Against her, he eventually stirs, faint twitches in his muscles making his arms tighten around her. She tries to conceal her grin at the thought that even in his sleep, something in him can feel her, can feel her happiness, her love, and that he is eager to answer it. Slowly, his head moves down, his digits on her hip starting to regain consciousness. As he is rousing himself from a deep sleep, stretching in the exact same way he does every morning, Lydia can't resist snuggling closer and straightening her head to sense every inch of his lovely shape awakening. Without any forewarning, his lips are on hers and she responds with a kiss and a sigh of contentment that Stiles welcomes as his own oxygen.

"G'morning, sunshine." His voice is gravelly, still coated by sleep. It runs along her skin with the softness of a caress.

She can't help but gape at him and melt in a sigh, seeking to draw a bit more of that substance they use to weave their future from his lips. Words get stuck in her throat by an emotion that makes her chest swell and constrict everything else. Tears are accumulating somewhere behind her sternum and she presses herself closer against him, fastening their embrace. His eyelashes are just as humid as hers. They can't do anything else than breathe each other in, witness their exhales melding and helping their souls to merge, trying to find the plane of existence, where one plus one equals one.

Curiously, Lydia has the feeling they can find it here. After all, there is a balance in everything. There is always a breathing space, a safe haven that helps the mind escape for an instant. Even here.

After what could have been a few seconds, a few minutes, or hours idling into each other arms, Stiles softly caresses Lydia's hair, coaxing her to lift her stare and look at him. He is beautiful, even in this grey morning light, his eyes are so bright...or deep – Lydia doesn't know anymore because the way he gazes at her always makes something tug around her heart and reality fades behind that feeling. Always. She beams at him in wonder. She knows he can read her happiness, her boundless love for him in each of her gestures, and she refuses to hide it. It makes him grin broadly. It even makes him blush. She giggles, letting her fingers tinkle along his cheek and lips as he slowly lowers his hand from her head to the small of her back to encircle her waist and pull her a little nearer.

She is happy. Lydia is happy in Beacon Hills and it's all thanks to Stiles, her miracle.

Happiness in Beacon Hills is something she never thought she would know, but here they are, and it's easy, like it always is with him. As she anchors her stare to his, bringing her nose closer to his and tenderly brushing it, the same amazement glows through him with an intensity that would put any star to shame.

"You ready to go?" There is still a husky tone to his voice, and Lydia feels her eyelids smoothly fluttering closed to let it work its way through her, quickening the pace of her heart and spreading panic among the butterflies in her stomach.

She opens her eyes and shakes her head, straightening when his hand starts rubbing her back under her shirt in that way he knows she likes. It makes her seek his mouth in a whimper, and her fingers find that spot on his skull that always coaxes him to make the most enticing noises. They kiss lazily until Lydia finds herself in the soft cocoon of his body above hers, her head buried in the pillow. She parts her lips to welcome him deeper and his moan sparks the most pleasant fire inside of her.

"I missed this," she manages to articulate after they stop panting. For a week, tenderness between them hadn't vanished, but tension and anxiety at the idea of returning to Beacon Hills had stolen those lazy morning hours. Those moments when time is replaced with kisses and caresses. When their minds are on the edge of waking up yet decide to linger more in that blissful state made out of soft lights, thick voices, airy laughter, and overwhelming love.

"I missed this too." He answers in a smile, no doubt or fear clouding his features.

They stop talking for a while. She loses herself in his eyes above her, in the feeling of his arms, of his hair, of his heart making his chest rise and fall.

Lydia wants Stiles to kiss her, again and again, until her lungs don't remember what it means to breathe their own air. Before she has the chance to shape her thoughts into words, he is already lowering himself to connect their lips in the most tender greeting.

The wind is still blowing outside, stronger and stronger.

Lydia has never felt safer.

* * *

A little while later, Stiles dresses quickly and shows Lydia the bathroom, two doors down the hallway. When he closes the door behind her, she is sure he left with her one of his smiles, a smile that accompanies every one of her gestures. She remembers to keep it on her lips to give it back to him after her shower.

It takes her less than fifteen minutes, after which she almost has to refrain from running to the kitchen. He must have sensed her coming because when she sees him, he is already pulling out a chair at the table for her to sit beside him. Only Kira is with him. It's already late in the morning, Scott and Melissa have long left for work.

Lydia sits and happily accepts the coffee Kira is offering her. She feels so good, so relaxed and welcomed that she only remembers she is in Beacon Hills when Kira talks about it. Stiles is discreetly rubbing her lower back, as he usually does in the morning. It floods her memory with images: A sunrise on a beach. Breakfasts in the cozy heart of winter. Opened windows in spring, organza curtains languorously stretching in the balmy breeze, swelling and twisting in sync with the sound of a bird singing. The wind carrying the scent of lilacs to her nostrils. And just like that, Beacon Hills takes on the colors of the whole world. The colors of Stiles's irises when the light hits them in that particular angle, the colors of his love. The town that had always felt like a prison now feels like a crossroad.

Each morning for the following three weeks, they dive into a routine they've been perfecting for months. Lydia has never known happiness like this. She will realize later that this was her first true experience of a family.

Scott and Melissa come home for lunch every day. Sometimes, Stiles and Lydia wake up early enough to have breakfast with them. It feels more and more like second nature to Lydia, and every day brings her closer to what she never imagined could be hers. Conversations come and go, smiles above steaming mugs and laughter rising higher than those clouds. Every day, Lydia gets to know each member of her newfound family better. She gladly talks to them about her research, feeling like she is talking about a Lydia she was in a former life. Every day, she finds it easier to talk about her childhood, to share some laughs about it. Kira quickly becomes a good friend, especially after they realize that they went through the same struggles as they learned to accept their supernatural natures.

Stiles and Lydia go for walks every day. Every day they travel further into the neighborhood. Lydia can't help noticing that there's still one direction they are avoiding; probably Stiles's childhood street. She doesn't mention it, preferring to bubble with anticipation and curiosity rather than urging him to do anything. The ghosts that had scared them when they entered the town in the Jeep are slowly fading against the white sky, the bad memories withering to leave space for the better ones. New ones.

They find the coffee shop Lydia had always wanted to try. It's not the same one. It has been repurchased by a chain of coffee shops, but they still buy something. A way for them to tell Peter he hasn't stolen everything from them. They keep strolling through the streets, recognizing a bench here, a tree there… Small things. It's better to focus on small things. It helps keep the unpleasant ones at bay. Sometimes, they allow a wave to pass their dam, but never more than one. One when they catch sight of their elementary school from afar. Another when they pass by Lydia's old house, and she sees a slide in the garden. _The family who lives there must be a real one,_ she thinks, and she realizes she feels more happy than sad.

They never go out for more than two or three hours. After that, it becomes too difficult, too hard. It's easy to remember that they have a home to come back to when they are out for just a few hours.

For the same reason, Stiles still hasn't found it in himself to drive the Jeep, so they walk. Every day, as they leave the house, they go past it. It's parked in the driveway, only waiting for its owner. Every day, Stiles stops for a moment. He watches it, makes the keys rattle in his pocket, and loses himself in his thoughts, twisting his lips. Then, he lets the keys go and replaces the cold contact of metal with Lydia's warmth. He whispers the same word, "Tomorrow…", letting it descend to the ground settle into the gravel next to the driver's side door. Maybe he thinks that after a week, two weeks, the pilled-up _tomorrows_ will reach the door handle and a flower will grow.

From time to time, Lydia catches glimpses of the way Stiles and Scott look at each other. It's heavier than usual, a little more charged. She understands it means the time will soon come for them to reopen some old wounds in order to help them heal better.

* * *

That is exactly what happens on a morning in the third week of their visit.

The Sun isn't up yet but Stiles keeps tossing and turning in the bed, keeping Lydia awake. He eventually stands up, laying a kiss on her forehead that makes her pulse race under the pressure of an anxiety she knows too well. From the way she senses his stare lingering on her right before he stands up, she thinks he doesn't know she is awake.

"Stiles?" She was about to let him do whatever he had to do, but the lump in her throat was getting too big.

His hand was on the door handle when he turns around at the sound of her voice. A low "Lyds" makes its way to her ear, and in less than three strides, he is by her side on the mattress. He doesn't say anything, and she barely sees him in the darkness. His gentle touch follows the outline of her cheek before losing itself in her hair. He leans and kisses her again, on the lips this time and slower.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you." His hands are running through her hair and time seems to stop. "I'm coming back, my heart. Alright? I promise, I'll come back to you."

Her throat is too constricted for any word to make its way to her mouth, so she presses her hand over his to make sure he can feel her nod. It's like saying goodbye to a shadow. He needs this, she knows it. She knows he'll come back to her. He always does, but fear is already strangling her, and she is afraid of the imprints it might leave on her skin. Another reminder of the ugliness in this world.

The mattress shifts when he stands up, and she knows that if she blinks, he will be gone; she won't feel him next to her, and his absence will leave more space for her anguish to infuse its scrawny coldness into her blood. The faint _click_ of the door handle startles her and she leaps to her knees on the bed, calling him one last time. The door is ajar, and when he turns around, a ray of light outlines his features, tearing up the darkness, and Lydia feels like she can breathe again. He is here.

He comes closer to her, her name emerging from his gasp like a sigh of relief as he takes shape against her and finds his way out of the shadow to reassure her one last time. Their tongues connect without even trying, and he takes her against him, one of his arms encircling her waist as the other one is already reaching for the mattress. Lydia lets herself collapse backwards in a slow and soft fall. Stiles's body alive and hot above hers, anchored in the present. With her.

She makes out his gaze in the obscurity and dives into it. There is something different about him, there has been for days and Lydia marvels at it every morning. It's painted all over his face, but she can't name it. At this moment, she sees it again and it helps her find the strength to let him go.

"Go back to sleep, Lyds. I'll come back."

"Okay." It's a murmur filled with hope and love that passes through her sore throat. Some tears get trapped on her eyelashes, and she is afraid Stiles won't hear her, but he does.

She knows it when he kisses her again, so tenderly that she can't help her sob from turning into a moan. His thumb brushes lightly over her wet cheekbones to help her get rid of the salt her sadness left behind, then follows the shape of her mouth and rests on her chin. Then, it's her turn to kiss him. She raises her head just enough to reach his lips.

He eventually stands up, helps her under the blanket, and turns towards the door, taking the _I love you_ she sends along with him.

After that, Lydia isn't sure she will be able to fall back asleep. Her heart is in her throat, her blood pulsing in all her muscles and tears are building up somewhere, everywhere. The knowledge that Stiles will come back isn't strong enough to keep at bay the despair consuming her stomach.

Time passes anyway and takes care of her anguish. Her eyelids must have given up at one point because Stiles's voice and the brush of his voice against her cheek wake her up.

"Lyds, wake up."

His kisses leave a wet imprint on her skin, and he is crooning her name against her ear, his voice lower and lower until a faint _Stiles_ escapes her mouth, reshaping it into a smile. Her eyes flutter open, she is on her side, facing the window, the blanket tucked over her chin. Stiles is sitting on the mattress behind her, his torso draped over hers. Outside, the sunlight barely filters through the clouds and trees, but it's there – low on the horizon, promising a new day.

Lydia turns around to face him. His beautiful brown eyes are reddened by tears, but his lips are flaring with a radiant exhilaration. It's enough to instill a marveling glow inside of her. It makes her blood pulse faster and her muscles twitch under the pressure of a love she can't and won't contain. _He came back_. She never doubted it, but it doesn't make it any less prodigious.

As if she is rediscovering him all over again, she lets her fingers run over his face, along his cheeks and his neck, curling her hand around it and pulling him towards her to kiss him until her lungs are screaming for oxygen.

He kisses her back, again and again, exploring the skin on her neck and collarbone as she keeps him against her. And just like that, her lungs remember how to swell. Happiness and relief make her chuckle, even more so when his fingers sneak under the blanket to tickle her ribs. She laughs, and he watches her, his lips curling into the same grin he wears when he convinces her to eat something she has never tried.

"Get dressed, I wanna show you something," he eventually says.

At those words, Lydia's stomach flutters and excitement bursts through her entire body. Stiles seems calm. He stands up and reaches out to her, planting a kiss on the back of her hand when she gives it to him.

"Hurry up, I'll make you breakfast," he tells her.

Lydia barely has time to understand what is happening when he is already at the door. She manages to catch him by the back of his sweater.

"Stiles!" The realization that she might have woken up alone without knowing where he was hits her. But it didn't happen because he always comes back, because she can have blind faith in him. He knows how to take care of her heart, of her. A wave of relief and love overwhelms her, so she laughs, "Aren't you gonna tell me more?"

"Nope…" Stiles winks at her and lays a loud smooch on her forehead before opening the door. Lydia doesn't hold back her smile as she stands in front of the closed door.

It must have taken him less than three minutes to wake her up and leave. With him, the entire winter burst into the bedroom; the chilly wind, the rosy cheeks, and the foggy breath. Sometimes, Stiles can turn into a tornado, and it's up to her to meet him in his quest, to tag along and experience the world with his eyes, knowing that what can look like a crazy mess protects a heart of peacefulness, that it protects life itself – what it's made of and everything that is worth living for.

That's why it has never been difficult to follow him, she realizes as she dresses. A long time ago, she had let him convince her to order the dish that sounded the tastiest. She had known from that moment that she would follow him everywhere.

* * *

At the breakfast table, they are all together.

The boys have the red eyes and the clear voices of those who have cried all the tears they had in them before finding solace in each other's arms. No one asks. They don't need to.

Lydia doesn't know how long the two of them spent in the darkness of dawn erasing the past, but if Stiles wants to tell her about it, she knows he will, and she'll be there.

The air is cool outside, but the wind has died down a bit. Over the last week, some snowflakes have descended to melt on the ground, but everyone is still waiting for the promised _snowy January_. Today, the clouds are more scattered, their layer thinner. They allow a few rays of sunshine to give a sense of glow to everything they graze. The colors of the sky are beautiful. The sunlight merges with the cumulus in a faint yellow, almost white hue, illuminating the clouds from the inside. Each of them carrying its own frozen, ivory Sun.

Like a dutiful gardener, Stiles sows another _tomorrow_ by the door of the Jeep. At the same time, a ray of warmth peeks through the clouds to cast the shadow of the car on the ground. Stiles lifts his head to look at Lydia, and she winks at him, making him smirk. Something is happening. Hand in hand they head towards the street they have always avoided, leaving budding seeds behind them.

"I can't promise you to show you my old bedroom today, but I can show you my house if you want," he says after they walked long enough for the McCall house to disappear behind them.

A smile colors her already flushed cheeks and she nods, "I would love that."

"Good," he murmurs, looking down with an expression that makes him resemble a young boy relieved that the girl he loves liked his surprise.

Lydia lets go of him to wind her arm around his waist. Immediately, he answers with another kiss on her skull and encircles her shoulders.

They walk in the middle of the street in silence, relishing in those empty morning hours when everyone is either already at work, or still home. Only birds and some cats wandering remind them of what movement and sounds are. Their pace is so slow that Stiles doesn't need to do more than apply the faint pressure of his thumb on her shoulder for Lydia to understand that he needs to stop for a while.

They find a bench and sit side by side. Lydia leans her head on Stiles's shoulder, waiting for him to talk and they hold hands in silence. After a while, he clears his throat and takes a set of keys out of the pocket of his pants.

"Scott gave these to me earlier. Melissa fought with the notary for a long time to buy the house after I left. She regularly rents it, and it's free right now. That's why I wanted to… I…" His words were flowing with ease, but suddenly, as if his mind realized their weight, his voice breaks. "But I…" He can't continue.

A heavy darkness is rapidly thickening around them, choking Stiles. In an attempt to stop it, Lydia closes his fist over the key and draws his face to hers so she can lay her forehead against his. With the key hidden between them, she tries to breathe enough love and courage into him to help him talk.

"Where is it? Where is your house?" she eventually asks.

Stiles pulls back to stare at something behind her shoulder and points towards a street on the left, "That street. That's the one."

She turns her head back to him as he lowers his arm. "We don't have to go. We can come back tomorrow if you want."

Without even needing to consider the idea, Stiles shakes his head. "No… No, I want to go further. At least until we reach the street."

"Okay." Lydia drops a kiss on his lips in a very slow movement, encouraging his brain to slow down, reminding his heart that everything is alright.

They lean back against the bench. In front of them, the colors of the sunrise are slowly fading into the white of the thickening clouds. The air gets colder, the wind stronger. But the changes are subtle and slow. Lydia had forgotten how much slower the sky changes here, and she marvels at the range of colors gradually melting into one.

Stiles's soul is somewhere against hers, vibrating and seeking more closeness. She gives it to him. She will give him everything she can, letting the rhythm of his pulse lull her. It's more and more peaceful, it merges with the wind that carries his scent and the caresses of his thumb on her skin. After a long while, she understands he is ready before he even says it, and they stand up.

They start walking quietly, mirroring the pace of the sky changing, keeping their hands intertwined between them. That street brims with stories, and Stiles dives into it, sifting through his childhood memories for a refuge that will keep him safe until they reach his house. Lydia listens to him, having no problem picturing him and Scott hurtling down the street on their bikes. It's wide and slightly downgrade. She hears their laughter, their shrieks, and she can imagine the worried expression or annoyed glare on the neighbors faces when they were going too fast, or too close to a stroller or a dog.

They turn left, and they don't stop. Lydia is watching Stiles expectantly, but nothing in his behavior indicates that he needs to take a break. So, she kisses his knuckles and averts her eyes to the houses around her, wondering with a beating heart which one it will be.

* * *

In terms of distance, it's not long, but images and memories flood Lydia's mind and stretch each blink, each step. Across her memories, ancient feelings are waving at her. They knock at her core like old friends, so Lydia opens the door to them, and she remembers.

Beacon Hills doesn't have a lot of streets like this one. Most of the others hide underneath the same shiny surface, the same one her old house wore. Lydia knows what they mask – lies and pretense. But this one... It's exactly the kind of street she liked to find on her bike, when she tried to lose herself in her thoughts, take a walk in landscapes and lives she had imagined, or to let herself drown in the notes and lyrics of her favorite songs. Here, the houses are all different from each other; this garden keeps its Christmas lights up until February, that one that isn't regularly tended… Here, each house has its own story, a story that could be read on their façade, one that she could guess.

Feelings are out in the open; happiness, sadness, weariness, and excitement. Everything can be read as easily as on the face of the boy she used to notice more and more in the crowd… Stiles. This street looks like him.

And like everything that is related to him, something tells her she has always known it…

But it's more than that. Deep down, Lydia feels that this street not only reminds her of the places she sought on her bike, she _knows_ it. First, she thinks it's just her highly emotional state which makes her imagine things. Then, she notices a garage between two houses. Her heart keeps leaping like a kid tugging on her mom's hand to show her the miracle of a ladybug lazily climbing a wall.

She doesn't pay attention to her voice forming Stiles's name when she stops in front of this ordinary garage. Just a white door and tire tracks in the gravel of the driveway. But Lydia would have sworn that years and years ago, it was the workshop of a jewelry designer. She recognizes the spot where she would lay her bike, there is even a fading square on the wall where a sign used to be. She remembers enjoying stopping by to buy a bracelet, a necklace… But moreover, to chat with the designer. This woman would travel a lot to find new inspiration for her jewelry in new gems or colors. Lydia was fascinated by what she told her.

If she isn't wrong, if she remembers well and actually knows this street, then several houses further down…

She lets her memories guide her and a little further down on her right, she recognizes the fences.

"I know this street, Stiles." Words first come out of her mouth in a whisper. Lydia doesn't realize she is already moving forward, pulling Stiles behind her. "I know your street!" She exclaims as they stop in front of the façade of a house turned into a bed and breakfast since long before they were born.

"You do?"

"I loved to come to see that house, they always had decorations for each month, each holiday. I…" She lets her memories carry her far away, taking a firmer hold on Stiles's hand and hoping she can take him with her.

How many times had she stopped here? Catching herself dreaming about landscapes she had never seen. Picturing herself wrapped up in a woolen scarf and a forest green beanie so she could securely observe the snow falling on high fir trees, safe and happy in a cabin in autumn with a mug of hot cocoa while she watches cartoons all day under a blanket. Other sensations, some more blurry than others come back to her, simple urges to fly far away from her daily hell, from this town that only respires thanks to arteries like this one. She should have known there was a reason why the life and light of this town had settled here, in _his_ street.

With a heaving chest, she turns to Stiles, repeating the same words. "I loved their decorations…"

His face is illuminated with a grin containing all the wonders that had started to take shape in her memories. He clutches at her and turns towards the house just in front of that one. "Me too… I could see them from my window."

At this moment, Lydia is sure that their heartbeats must have created a mini earthquake somewhere.

Stiles resumes and Lydia follows his stare. "That's my house."

* * *

There are two keys in Stiles's hand, one that opens the front door and another one that opens a small room that Melissa and Scott added.

Renting the house with its ghosts seemed impossible but forcing them away was unthinkable. So, they decided to leave the house like it had always been, storing the Stilinskis' personal belongings in a spare room at the end of the corridor. Occasionally, Scott and Melissa would come by to clean that room.

When Stiles tells this to Lydia, they are sitting on the front porch. After several minutes spent with the keys in his hand, unable to decide to open the door, she had made him sit down. Then, he started to tell her what happened with Scott earlier in the morning. Eventually, the house became Melissa's project. People and families in need of medical care can come and see her at the hospital, and she rents them the house for a short-term period.

After more than a year without settings a foot inside the house, Melissa and Scott had broken into tears when they first opened the door. Those empty months had wreaked havoc, it looked like all the life that had always inhabited those four walls had been ripped out. Deciding to not let their pain keep them away from the house, they went back the day after, like soldiers returning to a battlefield, with their minds focused on one goal and one goal only: restoration. Dusting, lifting the shroud that had spread over every frame and furniture. Opening the windows, letting the Sun back inside, the warmth, life. Every day, they put a few more things in order. Renting it the first time had been tough, but Melissa chose the families very scrupulously, explaining to each one why that house was so important, its story, and holding on to the certainty that one day, _he_ would come back. That Stiles would come back.

Now that she is more familiar with Scott and Melissa, Lydia has no problem picturing them regularly coming to remove all the cob webs and fluff from every corner. She understood why they would do it again the week after, and the week after that, without once losing sight of the reason for what they are doing. Whom they were doing it for. Because Stiles would come back, and it was their own way of telling time not to settle in that house, to keep going. The ghosts will come back to life.

In some ways, it reminds Lydia of what she had felt the day she had seen Allison's grave. Someone was coming regularly to clean it and bring fresh flowers, bringing life to keep the memories intact. Allison had kept on living through that person, and thanks to Scott and Melissa – Claudia, Noah, and Stiles had never left their home.

Without having to ask him anything, Stiles continues to talk, telling Lydia about the rest of his conversation with Scott. He doesn't rehash all of the details. Lydia is certain to know all of them anyway.

He explains that, when he came out of their bedroom, Scott almost seemed to be waiting for him in the kitchen. They wrapped themselves up in their coats without a word and walked out into the night, witnessing that blue hour just before dawn and feeling in their bones the sudden heavy silence all around them. Their feet brought them to the same skate park where they had reconciled so many years ago. Some things never change.

Together, they relived everything that happened to them in Beacon Hills and the years after, the ones of loneliness and devouring pain. They cried a lot and dried their tears in a silent embrace. They only broke when the first rays of sunshine had pierced through the night. On their way back, they considered passing through Stiles's street, but he refused. He wanted to do that with Lydia.

 _"_ _She doesn't talk about it, but I know it's important to her. I can't do it without her,"_ he had said.

When Stiles stops talking, he and Lydia lean into each other and stay still for a while. The wind ruffles her hair, and some strands tickle his nose, but he doesn't move. Her jacket and thin scarf are no longer enough to keep the cold at bay, but Stiles is, and it feels good. She nestles closer to him, relishing in the softness of his burgundy sweater, and as always, he catches his breath. She could stay there for hours, with their two souls slowly melding, creating this warmth, this link binding them in the most intimate way possible.

* * *

One rainy day, years ago, Stiles had seen Lydia outside of the local movie theater, six blocks from his house.

With her bike next to her, she was shivering, waiting for a downpour to stop before going back home. Stiles was inside, helping his neighbor Mr. Owen to re-arrange the candies next to the cash desk.

In a perfect world, he would have listened to Mr. Owen who was offering him some Reeses's peanut butter cups and who told him with a knowing smirk to go out and invite her to watch the next movie with him.

In a perfect world, he would even have had the courage to offer her the sweater he carried in his bag.

But the world wasn't perfect, and he hadn't dared.

In this imperfect world, he stayed with the chocolate in his hands, frozen behind the cash desk, his eyes glued to Lydia outside who was listening to her music.

The movie started, the rain had stopped, and she was gone.

Today, Mr. Owen, still lives next to Stiles's former house, and the elderly man recognizes him from behind his fence. After throwing at each other indecisive glances, they answer his greeting. He has the same knowing expression when Stiles introduces Lydia to him. Just like he did as a teenager, Stiles blushes. As the wind is increasing, Mr. Owen invites them in his house for a cup of coffee and some sandwiches. Before Stiles knows it, they are sitting around the table, talking, remembering, laughing.

Stiles isn't completely comfortable though. It doesn't make any sense. He wishes he could ask Lydia because she seems to be able to read between his old neighbor's words and silences, and in the way he sometimes looks at Stiles with heavy emotion.

Mr. Owen still runs the movie theater with his wife. He tells Stiles that everyone in the neighborhood will be happy to know he is back, that they have all waited for this moment. He tells him things Stiles doesn't quite understand. Things about people waiting too long after others to take care of the problems of the world. Things about how everyone could have done something and did nothing. Things about regrets, hope, and faith. With his wife, they only play movies about love, about the beauty of the world, and the beauty of life and its worth.

"We hope it can help people remember that they all matter, that they all have a role to play, that they belong and can make a difference." The old man cries a little, wiping his tears with shaky gestures.

Stiles isn't sure he understands, but it constricts his chest. Under the table, Lydia's hand seeks his and squeezes.

Mr. Owen must have seen them hesitating in front the Stilinski's house and offers to let them inside the movie theater for a private screening of _It's a Wonderful Life._ It could give them the time to decide, so they say yes.

Before Stiles joins Lydia inside the theater, Mr. Owen holds him back to hug him and give him a paper bag full of candies for old times' sake.

When he finds Lydia, Stiles still isn't sure he understands.

"What did he want?" she asks him when he sits on her left, putting the paper bag on the seat next to him.

"He um…" he passes a hand behind his neck and over his face before propping his elbows on his knees. "He hugged me and thanked me. But I… I don't get it. We were never that close. I mean, he was always kind to me, I helped him here sometimes, and told him about you once in a while. He always gave me free candy, but that was it." Leaning with a thud against the thick red seat, he turns to look at Lydia. "I don't get it. All of this… It's nice, and it feels good, but I don't get it."

"He's just happy to see you back."

"But…why?"

He doesn't stop staring at her, knowing she has the answer. He follows her as she leans on her side against the seat, folding her legs as much as she can underneath her. She nibbles at her lips, searching for the right words and eventually raises her head to look at him again, gently brushing aside some strands on his forehead.

"You heard him. What happened to your family and to you changed a lot of things here. From what I remember, people in this town were never especially welcoming or open minded… But they changed. They are doing everything they can to make people care about each other so things like that never happen again. They must have been waiting for you to come back for years… They hoped for it, they believed you would. I guess if you hadn't come back, they would have felt guilty for not being more involved, they would have felt responsible for what happened to you. You being here brings them peace of mind. It's an incredible gift."

"But I… I didn't do anything. I was just a kid."

Nerves and frustration are starting to make him raise his voice and he only realizes he is fiddling with the seams of the armrest when Lydia stops him. Her touch startles him and draws his attention back to her.

"It doesn't matter. The important thing for them is that you are here now, safe. You're the happy ending to the tragic story that happened right next door. And besides…"

She is focusing on their fingers slowly intertwining above the armrest when a smile plays on her lips. Stiles is hypnotized. Her caresses run along his skin, helping his heartbeat to slow down to a tranquil pace. When she speaks, their stares meet and her voice soothes him even more.

"You did a lot. You saved a lot of people here in high school, and I'm sure I could find a lot of people across the ocean who still remember that handsome and enigmatic man who saved their lives before disappearing into the night." She punctuates her statement with a soft peck and resumes with a lower voice, reclining her head against the edge of his seat. "And you saved me, I'll never say it enough. Where would I be today without you? You know this, but… I was desperate when you found me, Stiles. I was empty. You gave me everything. You still do."

"I just give you back what you give me, you know."

His words make her blush adorably, but she continues. "You're my hero, you're their hero too, and no matter what meaning they put behind it, it's a title you've earned. You saved so many lives… That hug he gave you, it's the _thank you_ all those people never gave you."

Stiles needs a moment to process what she is telling him. It's a strange feeling. His blood is pulsing strong against his temples, but he isn't overwhelmed by its surge, he feels anchored. His entire being and soul are swelling, uplifted by an incredible love. He gives her head more space on his seat and slowly kisses her mouth, her nose, her cheekbones, then with a smile, he rests his head next to hers on his seat.

"What?" she asks him from the top of her smiling lips as a thought is occurring to him, already reshaping his mouth in a crooked grin.

He lets out a faint chuckle before answering.

"Are you my personal and much more beautiful Clarence?"

"Your what?"

Looking away from her for a second to point his chin towards the screen, he answers, "The angel in the movie. The one who saves the hero from killing himself… The one who shows him why and how his life has always mattered…" They both hold their breath, Stiles needs to collect his wits because despite his grin, he is on the edge of breaking into tears. "Because you saved me too, Lyds and you still do." A tear rolls down his cheek, Lydia brushes it from the tip of her finger, murmuring his name.

They are so close that they both feel the kiss before it even happens. It's soft and so full of love that Stiles swears his heart stops beating the entire time. As the light gradually gets swallowed by the dark, they push slightly back.

"I'm not done with you." Lydia kisses him one more time before straightening up a little.

And because it actually is a perfect world, Lydia accepts Stiles's sweater when she shivers from a draft. She wraps it around herself with the same expression she has when they come home after an exhausting day and they dive into a cozy embrace.

In this perfect world, she also accepts the Reeses's peanut butter cup Stiles hands out to her. She feeds him a bite, letting her thumb linger and outline his mouth.

They spend the entire movie snuggled up against each other, eating candies and stealing pecks when the other one isn't paying attention.

When the movie ends, Lydia keeps Stiles's sweater because in this perfect world, Lydia loves to dress in his clothes, and he loves seeing her in them. They wave at Mr. Owen on their way out, thanking him from afar. Stiles is cold despite the long sleeves of his shirt, but Lydia is too beautiful to ask her to give him his sweater back. So, he doesn't and when she offers to give it back anyway, he shakes his head.

He doesn't ask Lydia where she is going. Their feet seem to bring them both in the same direction: his house.

The keys are in his pocket. They form a heavy lump against his thigh. A lump like a landmark, an anchor, reminding him that whatever happens, he is here and now. With Lydia by his side. Maybe it's her that he feels against him, her weight, her soul. It carries him where he has always been supposed to go. So, he follows, rather than asking.

When they arrive under the porch of his front door, there is not a single question in his mind anymore, and he glances at Lydia one last time. She sends him back a smile he wasn't aware was on his lips and leans on his forearm to kiss him. Again, and again.

And because this world has always been perfect, she tastes like chocolate and peanut butter.


	23. You are all the space I ever needed

**"I cannot sleep  
without you  
anymore,"  
you said, soft and lost  
in my tired arms,  
"Nor I, without you,"  
I said, the weight of your  
head on my chest.  
We are built to be one,  
one thing in the dark hours,  
one breath rising  
into the ether above us.  
Move closer, still closer,  
until no space exists between us,  
until this skin becomes  
that skin,  
and all I am is shared  
with all you are**

 **\- Tyler Knott Gregson –**

Ghosts hide in the doorway. They hide in each sharp click of the key turning in the lock.

When Stiles opens his childhood house, they invade his memories. He watches them, powerless against their will to escape. How long have they been waiting for this? Waiting for a draft. Waiting for a release. Waiting for this house to be inhabited by something else than regrets and longing.

But Stiles can't give them what they want. He can't let them free. He doesn't know how to do it. So, he lets them play like a broken record in his mind, bump like fish against their aquarium walls.

One waves at Deaton on the nights he would take him home after tending to one of his wounds. He crosses the threshold, biting his tongue to keep from shouting when his hesitant steps throw him against the sharp edge of a piece of furniture, pain blurring his vision. And he crosses the threshold again. And again. Stuck in a loop.

There's a lump in Stiles's throat. It's stuck too.

One more behind his sternum when he sees a second ghost.

This one is worried, coming back from a pack meeting, forgetting to carefully put the keys in the fissured entrance bowl that belonged to his mom and forgetting not to slam the door with his foot because the paint is starting to wear off. But he is too lost in his own thoughts to realize any of it. They loop too, over and over…

Only the sound of his dad's footsteps, somewhere in the house or outside, forces him to come back to a reality he wishes he had never left. Home.

Stiles wishes he could make them all go away. He is afraid of what memories those footsteps could hide, but he is helpless against those ghosts. They have been trapped here for too many years.

He sees himself. He is thirteen years old, reeking of vodka for the first time because he and Scott found a bottle hidden in the back of a cupboard in Melissa's kitchen.

Noah is there too. He yells a lot, grounds him, until the mask of anger he was wearing splinters and he collapses on a chair in the kitchen, sobbing uncontrollably with his head buried in his forearms on the small table. The ghost stays frozen, and Stiles remembers how scared he was to move even slightly; nausea and dizziness slowly mixing with a terrible shame when his dad articulated a few words.

"I'm sorry, Stiles… It's my fault. I…I know it."

What his dad was implying couldn't have been clearer to Stiles. His despair was as obvious as the five empty whiskey bottles lying next to the trash can. Stiles remembers his tiredness, but he mostly recalls that nothing on Earth would have made him leave his dad in this state. He sat by his side, encircling his arm with his two hands and resting his head in the crook of his elbow like he used to do when he was younger.

"I'm sorry, dad. It's not your fault. I won't do it again, I promise."

For a long moment, Noah had run his fingers through his son's hair, letting his tears, self-disgust and sadness drown in the gesture of a father trying to lull his kid to sleep.

A soft pressure around his waist and a weight against his back helps Stiles come back to reality. Lydia plants a series of slow kisses between his shoulder blades, her hands lightly rubbing his stomach. She doesn't say anything at first. When the kisses linger, when she stills against him, he can feel her trying to reach him, trying to soothe him in this dance they keep perfecting. Inhaling deeply, he squeezes his eyes shut and allows his frozen soul to trade the icy memory of the ghosts' touch with Lydia's warmer embrace. Slowly, the ghosts mingle with the howling wind and go back to where they were hiding.

"Talk to me, Stiles. It will be easier if you talk. Tell me about you and Scott. I'm sure you have plenty of good memories."

Her words build a lifeline in front of him and he hangs on to it with all of his strength. He follows these tiny letters until they lead him to Scott and his PlayStation: the main reason for his returns in the middle of the night. Whenever Melissa had the night shift and they knew Noah wouldn't be home for a while, Stiles would sneak into the McCall's house, and they would play for hours, even on school nights.

Laughter bubbles behind this memory, and he catches a glimpse of Lydia behind him.

"She always had enough leftovers for us both in the fridge. Convenient, right?" He adds with a nostalgic tone, "Vegetables mostly. We must have been the only kids who would eat green beans or spinach with salmon while playing video games."

She chuckles behind him, nuzzling up behind his shoulder blades. "That's cute…" Her affection and serenity immediately spreading through his layers of clothes, skin, and bone. Before taking the final step, he brings one of her hands to his lips, breathing her in, breathing her calm and love in.

"Okay, let's do this."

With mechanical gestures, he wipes his feet on the doormat and opens the door, stepping aside to let Lydia do the same as he swiftly scans the wide space in front of him. Like Scott told him, they kept every piece of furniture. This is the house he remembers but…it's also…not. He wants to feel at home, but he doesn't, and a lump starts forming in his throat. Maybe it's the scent, maybe it's the imprint left by all the people who inhabited this house for years, maybe it's the ghosts, maybe it's himself… but something is wrong. Everything is the same and yet, it's all different.

This house is no longer his home.

A part of him wants to investigate further, find something to hold on to in this emptiness. But the other part desperately wants to take Lydia with him and go. Go far away, forget about this, forget about everything and live with her on a deserted island with penguins and northern lights, until they don't even remember who they used to be. He has already imagined a house for them, he could learn how to build one. Hunting, fishing... Why not? It can't be so hard. Lydia is a quick learner, and he is sure she has a lot to teach him too. Maybe it would be difficult at the beginning, but they would be happy…

Something soft in his hand snaps him out of his thoughts.

Lydia.

She took his hand and Stiles can't help but meet her eyes.

Her eyes…

They are brimming with so many things that he doesn't know how to tell her, how to explain…even to himself. He can't explain the feeling that is insidiously seeping through his veins.

Disappointment.

He barely dares to give it that name. How can he be disappointed? Was he expecting to find the house just like it was when he left? Or maybe even with his parents waiting for him with welcoming arms? He doesn't get to be disappointed. He is the one who left. Frustration and shame are starting to put pressure inside his skull, but with the softness of a summer breeze, Lydia's voice draws him back to her.

"Is this where your mom would measure your height?"

She is facing the wall to the right of the door. When most families keep records of their children' heights in a health journal, or discreetly on the edge of a wall, Claudia had used an entire wall. In one smile, all the bitterness and anger escape Stiles's mind. A balmy silence settles in when he closes the door behind him, letting the wind and the ghosts howl outside.

Lydia approaches the wall, her face illuminated by an amazement that helps him remember why being here matters.

Because it's just as important for her.

"Yeah," he answers, not even trying to strengthen his wavering voice and pointing at the different parts as he talks. "She worked on it several times. At first, she would only mark my height with the date next to it. She loved calligraphy, she had this special brush and India ink… She loved to use it. When her memories started to falter and she had to stop working, the doctors told her she should try manual and creative activities. She started painting. She was good at it… She came back to that scale and added the drawings."

Lydia doesn't say anything. She seems to barely dare exhaling, mouth agape and pupils widening every now and then to take everything in. "That's you…" she eventually utters, half as a statement, half as a question.

"It's um… Yeah, it's supposed to be me at every age. She used to say she was painting all of me, not just the visible."

A silhouette could be recognized in some drawings, but it was mostly colors, shapes, and movements. Lydia nods and Stiles realizes what she is doing.

She acts like she would in a museum.

With her arms folded over her chest and her mouth wide-open in a mix of concentration and awe, scrutinizing every detail… There is something reverential about her attitude that touches him deeper than he had imagined.

She gets it.

She gets what his mom did, and she gets all the rest. Everything about this house, about his family's history. She gets it…and Stiles understands.

It's her… The reason why he will be able to stay here longer.

It's Lydia.

It's not just the fascination on her face or the knowledge that it's important for her to learn everything she can about his past. It's her entire being.

It encircles the house, the past, the present... She gets it, she soaks up everything and lets her soul expand, turning a hostile environment full of ghosts and reminders of what happened into a safe haven, a place wide enough where his agitated emotions can rest.

Overwhelmed with love and gratitude, Stiles moves behind her to wrap his arms around her and bury his lips in her hair.

"It's… It's beautiful," she manages to articulate as she lets her upper body dive into his embrace. "I… I never saw you like that… Sometimes I get a glimpse, but it's always so fleeting."

Somehow, her words are perfectly clear to him.

She means the same thing he does when he can't help but keep his stare on her while she laughs, when he can't help but fall in love with her all over again whenever she smiles so genuinely that it makes her look slightly different. It's her soul, he thinks, her soul taking shape in her smile, her soul dancing like a flickering light in her irises.

"I know," Stiles whispers in her soft locks. "I know."

With a mesmerized slowness, Lydia hooks her hands around his forearms, absently playing with the hairs under his sleeve and squeezing. Then, she stills. Stiles can feel all sorts of emotions wash over her, they seep through everything. Through him, through the walls, through the pieces of furniture and through every atom in the air. Like a reflex, Stiles brings his feet around hers, hugging her with his whole body to give her something to concentrate on, help her stay anchored, and it works. Eventually, her presence all around him is stable again, peaceful, and he asks her if she wants a tour of the house.

He lets her questions lead him through memories. There are small details everywhere, details he hadn't noticed at first, but that take up the entire space now. Tiny things that Scott and Melissa made sure to preserve, all the "flaws" of the house that witnessed an entire life. It's through those marks in the walls, scrapes in the wood, and traces of moisture, or stains that Stiles is finally able to repopulate the house with something familiar. They stay away from his bedroom and his parents'. It would be too much for now.

Stiles has no idea how long they stay, exploring and recalling stories. Some are heavier than others, but Lydia is there, and she brightens the whole house with her mere presence. She pushes the shadows away.

But it all eventually collapses around him, when they find the door leading to the room Scott and Melissa used to store the Stilinski's personal effects. Stiles lays a hand against the wooden door and tries to stay still while a storm is battering everything in him.

He is still able to sense Lydia's encompassing presence, her soul trying to support his with all her strength, but he needs more, he needs her. The heat of Lydia's hands against his back is all it takes for him to shatter. Unable to stand any longer, he lets his knees drag him to the ground, knowing that Lydia is there to steer him in the right direction.

She sinks down next to him and opens her arms to him, calling him softly. Without any hesitation, he takes refuge in the crook of her neck. He is engulfed by her, wrapped up in her caring arms, in her love that she tries to infuse into him with tender caresses in his hair and along his nape and back. Sobs and whimpers make his body tremble, but Lydia keeps him sheltered while her voice gives his thoughts something to follow.

She is magic, he thinks as his adoration for her makes everything else vanish.

"We can come back later," she is whispering to his ear. "You already did so much, my love, I'm so proud of you."

Her warmth and her love are surrounding Stiles, and he nestles into it, letting her soothe him slowly, letting her pull him back to her. Once he has collected his wits enough to speak, he brushes his fingers against her waist and sniffles faintly.

"I… I wanted to show you the photo albums," he starts before straightening up in her arms. "Scott told me they ordered them chronologically and took care of the photos that were still in boxes. There are so many from elementary and middle school, I thought you would like to see them and I… I wanted to see if there were pictures of you, or just with you in the background. But um…" Sadness takes hold of him and his vision blurs. "I'm not sure I can go in that room. Not today."

Lydia keeps caressing his hand. Gradually, the sensations it creates all along his arms are the only things that reach his brain.

"I might have an idea," she eventually says, her fingers smoothly brushing his tears away. "We could go to the B&B across the street, check if they have a vacant room. I can come back here while you rest, pick a few albums and bring them to you. That way, we'll be in a neutral environment, and you won't have to deal with everything all at once. How does that sound?"

No question has ever been so easy to answer. The mere idea of having a place of their own, even for a short day gives him the impression that the air around him and in his lungs is circulating again. He nods, "Sounds perfect."

She beams at him, and he can't help adding, "Like you", because he knows that deep down, she is as shaken as he is.

Like he knew she would, she blushes and all of a sudden, it's all worthwhile. The pain, the loneliness, the heartaches and anxiety. It's all worthwhile because he knows the words that make the blood rush to her cheeks, he knows the words that make her forget about her own fears.

They stay curled up against each other for a while. Long enough for their hearts to synchronize again, find an appeased pace. Long enough to bring each other comfort and affection with simple touches.

* * *

The McCall house is empty when Stiles enters it. He remembers today is the day Kira and Scott leave to visit three houses they spotted in Oregon. They are probably gone by now. In their own bedroom, he finds his backpack and puts some clothes and other things he and Lydia will need for the night.

Outside, as he locks the front door, a sudden biting draft funnels through the coat he just put on. He shivers, swiftly buttoning it and turning up the collar. Something jingles in the pocket with the movement and his stare is drawn to the Jeep. For the first time in three weeks, he is calm when the idea to take it for a quick drive to the grocery store crosses his mind. Automatically, his thoughts go to Lydia. He isn't sure he wants to do it without her.

When he calls her, she picks up with a laugh he can't help imitating. They haven't called each other since that day, a month ago, when they couldn't find each other in a supermarket.

"Are you lost again?" she asks.

"No, why would you think that?" Remnants of laughter are still in his voice, and it makes it impossible to sound falsely offended. "I was thinking I could buy us some snacks…"

A hush falls over them and Stiles pictures her pursing her lips, considering that the nearest grocery store is too far away to walk there. He resumes, to save her having to ask the question. "I thought I would take the Jeep… Would you mind? I mean, I can pick you up if you want to take the first ride with me—"

"Stiles, don't worry about me. If you feel ready right now, you should go ahead. I understand."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, we'll take a drive together another time."

"I'd like that…" There are too many emotions in his lungs, and he needs to clear his throat. "And you, how are you?"

"I'm fine… I can't wait to show you what I found. I think you'll like it...and also...I miss you already."

Her voice is so soft that Stiles doesn't even remember where he is or what he is supposed to do. Maybe it's everything he has been through ever since he and Scott stepped into the night to dig into the dirt and bury their past. Lydia's words seem to mingle directly with his oxygen, with the blood in his veins and heart. Wishing he could evaporate in the wind to reach her and envelop her in an endless embrace, he doesn't realize his knees are weakening until he needs to lean against the Jeep.

"I miss you too. I'll be quick, I promise."

"Okay. Good... And Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really proud of you."

It's the second time today she tells him that, and he wonders if she knows she's the reason why, that she's the one who made all of this possible.

"Thank you, Lydia...for everything."

"You're welcome. I'll see you soon, my love."

"Very soon."

He hangs up and keeps smiling as he sits behind the wheel, shoving his phone in the pocket of his coat and throwing his backpack on the passenger seat. Everything is familiar, the scent, his gestures, even the sound of the engine when it starts.

It's easy.

Easy to remember the way to the store. Easy to drive further into his neighborhood and further into his memories. Easy to feel protected in this car, in his Jeep. No ghost can reach him here. He is home.

In the grocery story, he blocks everything out, all the lingering stares, the thoughts going through his mind and knotting his stomach… He thinks of Lydia, about what would make her happy. He spotted a kettle in their bedroom, and if there is anything Lydia enjoys about winter, it's drinking something hot under the blankets…in his arms.

The thought opens a door in his mind, and he loses himself in a daydream and everything else vanishes, immersed in the strong and steady waves of his boundless love. It seems to give him a new focus. All that matters is her and what they are building. If ten years of misery couldn't keep them apart, nothing will. They are forever… How could anything bad weigh against that?

With leisurely gestures, he picks up teas and instant soups, examining labels by reflex because that's what they do with Lydia when they buy food in a new country. Beacon Hills is slowly turning into any other place where they would simply treasure the days spent together. The same as they have done in countless places for the entire year. Staying with Scott, Kira and Melissa was a blessing, but he is slowly becoming aware of how much he craved this: some time with Lydia, some time for them, just them.

When she sends him a message to let him know she is back in their bedroom, his heart leaps with excitement along with the corners of his mouth. He speeds up, randomly filling his basket before heading to the cash register because he can't wait to get back to her.

* * *

Lydia is already sitting cross-legged, wrapped up in a blanket at the foot of the bed when Stiles comes in. She has gathered everything she could find to build them a comfy nest.

The five red photo albums she brought are spread about the floor still unopened, their memories locked inside. Stiles is nervous when he sits next to her, anticipation and frenzy running through his veins, making him restless, torn between diving into the photo albums or preparing something hot for Lydia, who looks like she has stayed in the cold for hours, and keeping her in his arms all night.

When she picks up the first album, he can't help offering her a soup.

The fond laugh in her voice as she answers, "Great idea", soothes him.

She truly is magic. He has no idea where she finds this strength, especially here in Beacon Hills, but she does. As if that were not enough, she gives it all to him so he can do this – face his past, his own tragedy… He loves her. He loves her so much.

Two or three minutes later, he returns to her side with two mugs of soup on a tray. Then, with a newfound serenity, he opens the first album.

The first chuckle finds its way out of his constricted memories on the third page. Another story follows, another laugh, jokes… Soon, Stiles feels good. Lydia picked the albums so carefully, maybe she even removed some photos... Whatever she did, he is grateful. He knows he is safe. He knows his heart is safe, and it makes all the difference.

She seems at ease too, bumping his knee with hers on occasion and sneaking under his arm after wrapping the hoodie he was wearing around herself.

Retrospectively, Stiles understands that he should have taken this as a sign – that underneath her amusement, she was starting to crumple, that the cold darkness inside of her was growing too fast, after weeks of doing everything she could to keep it locked inside.

For him.

* * *

She is motionless when he comes back from the bathroom after they finish the first album, bundled up in the wool blanket. Something has gone wrong.

Swiftly, Stiles sits next to her, calling her name to draw her focus to him, but she only points out her index finger on a picture of him and Scott. They were eight or nine years old and they were at a farm, petting a sheep, grinning like kids do. The sparkling energy coming from that photo is incredible and despite his concern for Lydia, he can't help sniggering at their faces.

"Were you happier before…before everything?"

The question knocks the breath out of his lungs. No, of course not, he wants to answer, but all he manages to come out with is a hesitant, "Wh—what do you mean?"

She repeats her question, but Stiles doesn't hear her. There is no answer other than no to that question anyway. One day, he was preparing for the new school year to begin, and the next, his best friend was bitten in the woods. He often asked himself what would have happened if they hadn't been in the woods that night, but it never occurred to him to compare the before and after. It did happen, and his life had changed… He met Lydia.

"No, no I wasn't." He slowly states, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "It was just… different."

"But," she shifts, averting her gaze from the picture to his arm, "you didn't have all of these," her fingers trails over his bicep, over the tiny scars he has there, then maps the rest over his shirt. She doesn't need to see him bare to know where they all are; a few big ones that never completely faded away and small ones that she slowly noticed. It makes his heart ache, etches its love deeper into his rib cage.

Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear and hooking her wrist with his fingers, he moves to face her. "Don't go there, Lyds, don't torture yourself like that."

She doesn't react, blankly staring at his torso as she swallows with difficulty. Her voice is constricted when she replies, "But I… I've never seen you smile like that. I've never seen your true smile."

"Lyds..." He closes the photo album. "Listen to me."

She still doesn't react, and it makes him realize that he doesn't sense her presence around him as much as he did earlier. It's still there, but barely. Trying to keep his own anxiety under control, he waits until her pupils are fixed on him to take both of her hands in his. Inside, there is an urge to find the right words to reassure her, find a way to make her come back to him, but his mind is blank.

One certainty takes up all the space anyway: There is no world, not a single version of himself where he would be happier in a life without her.

"I wasn't happier then. I was just a kid. Even in high school, before everything happened, I was still just a kid. Kids are…carefree, but it doesn't make them happier. What I'm looking for here… It's not who I am. It's…it's a part of me, a part that I need to make peace with, so it stops dragging me down every time I think of it. But mostly, so I can be whole for you."

Lydia listens to him quietly, lowering her eyes and not taking them off the circles Stiles's thumbs draw on her knuckles. Stiles doesn't take his eyes off her either, noticing with a pang in his stomach that her stare keeps getting glossier until a bead of water escapes, rolling down her cheek. From his fingertips, Stiles gathers it and the ones that follow, finally drawing her attention to him.

Pointing his chin towards the photo albums, he continues, "And this…this is not my true smile. What my mom saw and painted on the wall, that isn't it either. It's one kind, one long gone, but it doesn't make it truer. Do you think Scott, or my parents ever saw me smile like I smile at you?"

He grins at her the way he knows always make her blush, and it doesn't fail. She bats her eyelashes once to get rid of unshed tears, before looking down and nibbling at her lips, her chest quivering with nervous laughter. Stiles lets his lips find her forehead before leaning against it.

"Do you?" he repeats.

"No, probably not."

"I can assure you they never did."

She relaxes a bit, he knows it when her thumbs hook his, but it's not enough. She needs more from him, this is just a recess, a way to give a direction to her thoughts.

"D'you know what we're gonna do?" he speaks low, keeping their exchange like whispered secrets between them. "We're gonna take a burning hot bath. I'll hold you in my arms – for hours if you need me to – until we are all wrinkled, and the water is freezing. Then, we'll grab something to eat downstairs, and we'll sit next to the fireplace, or we'll stay here, and I'll hold you under the covers. How does that sound?"

"Sounds perfect…" She finds refuge in the crook of his shoulder before adding a bashful, "Like you," that makes Stiles smile.

"It's gonna be alright, Lyds. Just breathe and focus on me." She nods and, like magnets, his arms wind around her back before helping her up and steering her to the bathroom.

They sit on the edge of the bathtub. Stiles keeps her hand in his while he tests the water temperature. The sound it makes when it splashes against the white enamel is too violent, too loud for her. She needs him. She needs the softness of his voice, the tenderness of his care, and he gives it to her. He gives her all his love in every way he can, hoping it could turn into a beacon for her, a cornerstone for her soul to wrap around.

But Lydia's words are stumbling upon each other, faltering instead of flowing. Soon, they will collapse, and she will follow. To stay anchored on reality, she talks to Stiles. She talks about Scott and Kira in Oregon, but she doesn't mention the rest. The part about them asking if she and Stiles wanted to join them to check out the houses just in case… It's not a discussion for now. Before she can grasp her mistake, Stiles tells her about the garden behind the B&B, how beautiful it is, how beautiful it will be once it starts snowing.

She answers him and keeps rambling on with thorough attention to all his movements. After the plug is set in the tub, the room slowly gets swallowed by a forest of vapor clouds. She stays with him.

In this instant, Stiles knows she is with him. He can feel it in the way she responds to his gestures, in the way her dimples discreetly expand, and in the way her pupils follow him. But she is clinging to him like to a lifeline.

She still is when they consider the possibility that the fireplace won't be free. They can always stay in their room and eat what Stiles bought, the soup and the snacks.

Soup… He brought her soup. Of course, he did. She doesn't know why it matters so much to her, but it does, and she tells him.

Her laugh is beautiful, it's small, but it bursts through the fog. It's precious because a few years ago, Stiles knows she wouldn't have found it in herself to laugh when the darkness would take up so much space in her. But today, she laughs, and bliss melts with delight on his lips and in her eyes.

When the bathtub is filled enough, Stiles turns off the water, and the silence is so deafening, that they both stop talking. Lydia wordlessly calls him nearer, fingers clenching his shirt and toes creeping between his ankles. He scooches closer without her having to ask for it, fingertips drawn to her waist and coaxing her to stand up with sweet words whispered against her ear.

He helps her get rid of his hoodie and the rest of her clothes, leaving her in her bra and panties. Then Lydia helps Stiles take his shirt off. He understands her heart is shattering when her fingers leave the cottony fabric to follow the trail of his scars over his stomach and hips. His arms are still raised up when all of a sudden, she is hugging him tight. She sobs, quivering faintly and calling his name, only calming when he wraps her in his arms.

"That's it, Lydia, let it go, let it all go. I'm right there. Just follow my voice, follow me, and let the rest go," he whispers as her tears find their way along his arms. "You'll feel better once it's all gone, I promise. It's just this town… You've been so strong for me since we got here. It's perfectly normal to be overwhelmed."

"I hate them, Stiles… I hate them so much, all those people who did this to you. I hate this town too, what it took away from you! I hate them, I… I wish they were all dead and decayed like Peter…" The name startles her, her irises briefly taking on shades of distress. When she speaks again, her voice sounds like one she used to have when she was still terrified by her nightmares. "Did he hurt you too… That night… Did he hurt you?"

Her question takes him by surprise. She raises glossy, red eyes to him, and his heart sinks like a rock into the pit of his stomach.

"Wh—What?"

"You were there… The night he attacked me...you were there. I remember. I remember waking up at the hospital and hoping nothing had happened to you, but I must have passed out...and when I woke up again, I didn't remember anything but Peter. But now I do… I wanted to make sure you didn't have a single scratch so badly, and I forgot. How is that possible? Did… Did he hurt you after?"

Her question hangs in the air, and Lydia clutches Stiles's harder, her chest quivering distantly against his. She is taking his astonishment for a yes.

"N—No… No, he didn't." His answer seems to appease her a bit, so he insists, "I promise, he didn't."

"I'm sorry I forgot."

"It's okay, Lyds, I—"

"No," she cuts him off. "No, it's not! Imagine what our lives would have been if I had come to you after I—"

It's his turn to cut her off. He doesn't know how to reassure her, so he repeats the same thing, trying to anchor his stare deeper into hers, trying to bring their skin closer so she can really feel him, feel all his love for her running through his veins. "It doesn't matter. It's okay…"

"Why?" Her pleading voice breaks his heart because the truth is, he has no idea why.

"I don't know, I don't have a simple answer for you, babe. I just know that it doesn't matter."

The despair in her stare pierces through his lungs. If only he could show her…

She sniffs, calling his name and it wrecks him even more.

"Don't cry, my love, please, Lydia. It's alright… You're making me cry…" he adds as he leans his forehead against hers, already sensing the too familiar pressure inside his skull. But suddenly, it stops, and the solution appears to him. "Look," he gently clutches at her waist to draw her pelvis against his. He traces the length of Lydia's scar and stops under her breast. "Yours ends were mine starts."

Lydia lets out a gasp, frenzy in her veins slowly dying down, washed over by a certain serenity. With a shaking finger, she traces Stiles's scar. It's almost faded now, but a faint white line runs until his shoulder.

"It has to mean something, right?" he continues, grinning broadly through his watering eyes.

Lydia's stomach shakes from a tiny wave of relief.

"Lyds," he lifts her chin to anchor her a bit more to him. Her eyelashes are soaked with tears, it makes her gaze even more intense than usual. "Our story is what it is… We lost a lot of things, you and I, but what we found, it's…" He can't find the appropriate words and shakes his head.

"I know."

"Yeah, you do…" they smile at each other and slowly, her entire being seems to be brimming with joy and fervor. It's all around him, wrapping him in a perfect embrace. It feels so good that Stiles heaves a laughing sigh. "That's why it doesn't matter. In the end… It's you and me."

Lydia's answer comes in a hug when she hooks her arms around his neck. She is a lot heavier than before against him, finally letting go of her anxiety to let him in. He clings to her a bit tighter, listening to the music of her heart echoing everywhere, consuming his mind completely.

"Your heart is beating so fast," he tells her in a drowsy voice.

"I know… Yours too," she nods, her hair tickling his nostrils. "I can feel you pulling me back, you know?"

"You can?"

"Mmh…"

They hug in silence, and when they untangle, Lydia looks so drained that the itch to ask her about what she remembers from the night Peter attacked her naturally quiets down. It will have to wait. Making quick work of undressing each other, they dive into the water, Stiles holding Lydia's hands as she steps over the edge and sits in front of him.

Silence settles again. The tranquility is only interrupted by the soft sound of water dripping and splashing when Stiles plunges a washcloth into the water before softly brushing it against Lydia's skin, wiping away the last remnants of tears and anguish on her cheeks.

"I feel it too, you know," he eventually states just as softly. "You said you could feel me pulling you back. I feel it too."

With a jolt, she raises her head, hopeful eyes boring into him. "You do?"

"Yeah, I do. It's like… Like you're anchored all around me… It feels good."

A smile illuminates her entire being, and Stiles sees her. "There you are…" he murmurs in his own smile, running the washcloth over her face, hoping it would be enough to keep that expression of genuine happiness on her a little longer.

"I'm sorry we had to cut it short," she resumes apologetically. "It was working, right? You seemed to be more at peace with the photo albums than you were in the house."

"Yeah, it was a good idea, it worked. But don't be sorry, we can go back tomorrow if you feel better, or another day. We have time, okay? I want to do it with you. All of it. You waited for me to be ready to go back to my house, and I'll do the same. I'll wait for you too, alright?"

"Alright."

Something peaceful is washing over her, making her features relax all at once. Stiles senses his questions about the night of the attack, making him nervous again. Absently, he passes the washcloth over her legs and averts his gaze to the movements it creates in the water.

"So… You remember, huh?"

A sudden burst of glee and excitement radiates from her. It reaches Stiles from the inside, making him think that they probably didn't completely untangle yet. The thought brings him an incredible comfort. How long can they stay tangled up like this?

Lydia sneaks her knees under Stiles's thighs and intertwines their fingers, riveted by the tiny waves they create in the water. In her voice, Stiles spots a certain timidity, a restrained thrill he hadn't detected in months.

Seeing Lydia being so freely vulnerable has always moved him. Afraid to open up, but never hesitating to do it because he is there. Because it's him, and she trusts him. Reverently, he listens to her. He can't move once he lifts his stare to hers, captivated by the aura emanating from her. She is beyond beautiful at this moment. She is herself.

And she remembers.

She remembers the night Peter attacked her. She remembers that he was there, building a barrier between her and the monster. She saw his eyes, heard his voice, and she hung on to it with all her strength.

Nothing is simpler and yet more incomprehensible than this truth: The darkness had started to swallow her, and Stiles reached out, lending her his entire body, then his entire soul to bring her back. He carried her to the surface. To life.

Stiles remains speechless when Lydia tells him that ever since she remembered, she senses his energy, his aura and soul everywhere, at every street corner, in front of every house, and that's probably what gave her enough strength to support him. Remembering him allowed her to modify this memory. It's no longer the memory of the night Peter attacked her, drawing her into a world of violence and fear. It's the memory of the night Stiles saved her, showing her a world of wonders. A world where she feels connected to everything, where they can cherish each other without the weight of society and without the weight of their own fears and uncertainties. He changed that memory for her and the domino effect resulting from it has been prodigious.

Lydia isn't aware of all the changes yet, but she can hear them rumbling inside of her, shivering like the first buds that will resist until the end of winter.

Stiles has always hoped she would remember, but the reality leaves him speechless. Remembering him made her forget about Peter. He has been reduced to a detail in their stories, an impediment that wasn't enough to keep them apart from each other. A cry of relief wants to escape his lungs, his love for her, a boundless joy throbbing inside his ribcage. But it's all stuck, he feels hindered, trapped by his own flesh and bones, this dimension that has never been wide enough to contain all his emotions.

"I love you," he tells her instead in a voice he barely recognizes. But Lydia meets his eyes, and he reads in hers that this voice is probably more his own than any others. It's cracked, broken and through the fissures he thinks maybe she is able to get all the emotions, all the feelings and words he wishes he could tell her. She peers at him so intently, with the most hopeful hue of green he has ever seen in her. It fractures his voice even more to let other words out, to let him give her his breath entirely. "It's ours now, Lyds… Everything left. It's ours. Our future, our past. Everything."

"Ours…" Lydia looks mesmerized when she repeats his word and takes his hands in hers, grazing them with the tips of her lips before placing them over her breast. "This is ours too."

Under his palm, Lydia's heart beats steadily, softly. It's a distant vibration, one that Stiles never tires of seeking. All the rest seems so far away that he quickly loses his train of thought when he hears some agitation outside. Maybe it started snowing… There is only Lydia anyway. Lydia and him, their love, this soft beating that seems to be calling them closer, coaxing them to bundle up further inside one another to admire what they've created.

"I can try to take us there," Lydia eventually whispers as an answer to his thoughts.

"Where?"

"There," she brushes Stiles's heart, then hers.

The caress is faint, but it runs through his entire body in a delicious throb of exhilaration that renders him speechless.

"I want to see what it looks like."

"How?" he asks.

"I don't know… Do you trust me?"

"I trust you, Lyds. Always."

He already feels swept away in her wake, gingerly thrown into one of these places where their minds meet and mingle, when she stands up, smiling and extends her hand to him. He takes one, then the other, intertwining their fingers as the water splashes around their ankles.

She shivers against him when he brushes his lips on her cheek, and whispers from the tip of hers, "Come on."

He is barely aware of their gestures, of the towels they use to dry each other and wrap around themselves. Not holding Lydia against him is unbearable. As he is about to scoop her up in his arms, she is already winding her hands around his neck. Her stare is hooked on his when he bends to pick her up; her knees in the crook of his elbow and her precious head automatically finding his cheek. He carries her to the bed, led by the softness of her hair against his nose and the graze of her nails over his torso. His own blood pulses at his temples, the beating and its echo in her starting to build a cocoon for them, a place isolated from the world, a place of their own.

They lay on the bed, facing each other and without neither of them needing to say anything, they let their minds wander.

* * *

Lydia isn't facing Stiles anymore when she regains consciousness. Above her stretches a sky full of stars. There are so many that their balmy white light softens the dark of the night, imbuing everything around her with a deep and peaceful blue.

The only night there were so many stars in the sky was along a deserted road with Stiles. It was hot, and they had lied down outside on a plaid blanket. There was a stillness in nature that night, every insect and nocturnal bird probably exhausted by the heat. Lydia remembers the soft breeze cooling patches of humidity on her skin and leading a concerto of grass and wildflowers all around. She remembers Stiles, and his voice giving birth to constellations she was certain he was making up. But she didn't care, she just wanted to hear him talk and let him invite her into his imagination.

When it was her turn. She read their names between the thousands of bright dots, even spotting Stiles's face, the expression he has in his sleep, and the nostalgic one he has when he loses himself in memories.

Today, lying in a wheat field, Lydia reads his name even quicker than she usually spots the Big Dipper. She understands that they are in this memory when next to her, Stiles's voice tickles her ears, stirring the atoms in the night air with its deep tone.

"Do you think we loved each other in former lives?" he wonders aloud.

She lets each word slowly penetrate, letting the unadulterated sincerity radiating from his encompassing presence infuse her with passion that nurtures a soft fire in her stomach and in her veins.

He continues, rekindling a scene she will cherish until the very end. "My dad used to tell me that what we saw in the sky, in the stars, or in the clouds were memories from former lives. He said that once all my mom's memories would be gone, she would be able to find them in the sky until her next life."

A rustling in the wheat ears around brings him closer to her, and she tilts her head towards him because she knows his next words are only for her. For them. Her heart is already slowing down, carving each second with its beating in her memory.

"I see you everywhere, Lydia. There's only you."

There are tears somewhere trying to make their way through the butterflies in her sternum, but Lydia pushes them aside, as far away as she can. "Me too… Me too, I only see you."

Stiles props himself up on his elbow, glorious brown irises absorbing the whole celestial dome as the color of the wheat changes around Lydia to blend with her hair. An autumnal golden red that pervades the atmosphere with sweet nostalgia.

She lifts a hand to him, and he catches it, lowering himself to kiss her, but he never seems to reach her. He melds into her instead, completely. Wholly.

The wheat field around them is suddenly the one in the painting that was once above Claudia's desk, but Lydia is the only one Stiles sees in it. A small bundle of energy and love right in the middle. Their souls…intertwined after what felt like centuries spent seeking each other. Loving each other.

In the distance, there is a house, the one Stiles has imagined for them. There are entire sections missing, but it's not difficult to picture the whole house. Each fragment, each speck of dust or paint is brimming with Stiles's love.

Easily, Lydia fills it with her own dreams for them, the ones that slowly germinated and flourished, nurtured by her hope and the strength Stiles gives her every day. She knows he can see them, and she bares her mind for him as much as he does for her.

She shows him a studio for her, a place where she can draw and paint. He adds a full-length window facing the field, curtains flying in the wind, and a library that doesn't seem to end with long staircases reaching the ceiling. Then he adds a fireplace too. She shows him a restaurant space with a dozen tables and a kitchen where he can cook his mom's recipes...maybe some of his own too. He adds Lydia's paintings on the wall, and when she takes them off, he puts them back. For them to lie on, he imagines a colorful mattress. She puts it inside a cozy bedroom, the smallest room in the house – because they don't need anything big, not when they have each other. Stiles is all the space Lydia has ever needed.

Together, they build a vegetable garden, later adding a family of goats and a cow. A dog. And trees. Lots of trees. Also, flowers for Stiles to pick and for Lydia to decorate her hair. Mountains too maybe. Why not after all?

They could spend nights stargazing, embracing and making love in a nest they built by the sheer power of their hopes, renewed after every cruel blow and after each open wound they bandaged together. Wounds healed with hands only able to weave tenderness, with mouths that only exist to whisper the sweetest words and to plant kisses like seeds of promises on every corner of skin they can find.

A fire is seeping through Lydia's veins, in her muscles. She no longer knows where she ends, where Stiles begins. Maybe he is the one running through her veins, the one shivering on her skin when she raises her arms in an attempt to reach him and is met with the most tender caress. It's surreal and even a little frightening. All that space…

It overwhelms them with the urge to love each other harder, longer. To blow up the ridiculous limitations of their own bodies, of the space around them, and dwell in all the blank emptiness between each atom. To find more ways to write each other's names through dimensions and stretch each letter over light years, patiently waiting for the echo to come back to them.

Lydia is there, with Stiles, her hand in his. It's such a simple wonder that it makes him ache. He aches for her, longs for her. It's too wide here, too empty. He needs her. Her body, her physical presence.

He tries to lower himself a few inches, but he still doesn't reach her, and she is panting, trying to articulate what sounds like his name, her chest swelling too fast. He wants nothing more than reassure her with his presence, show her that he is right there in this immensity… He has always been there. Whether she knew it or not.

The air thickens, rubbing out the house in the distance to keep it safe for the days to come. Eventually, it all merges with the fluffy blanket of their small bed. Slowly, the arms they seek around each other, the caring presence they crave, take shape.

When Lydia's eyelids open, she heaves a sigh of relief and instinctively gropes in the dark to find the back of Stiles's head. She draws him tighter against her, lips seeking solace in a kiss which he gives her the instant he emerges from their shared dream. His hands are already parting her towel to reach her aching skin. Lydia feels the strokes of his tongue and fingers down to the deepest recess of her soul. They must still be intertwined somewhere, somehow… She lets her hand fall from his ear to his chest, to his waist, squeezing the fabric of his towel because she needs him above her. He understands, and she whimpers into his mouth when his body gives a shape and a weight to his presence.

"I still feel you," he whispers, breathlessly. "I feel everything."

"I feel it too."

They gawk at each other, gasping, and Lydia can read how much Stiles needs her in the way he ardently takes her in. Cupping his cheek, she brings him lower to plant a small peck on his lips, deepening it with a timid moan as soon as the tip of his gentle tongue teases the seam of her lips.

And he smiles.

She senses it on her skin before she sees it…

His smile.

A whole smile, one she had never seen. It juts out from his mouth beyond the boundaries of his frame. It translates his words from earlier. This smile isn't the one his mom painted on her walls. It's not the one from the photos either. It contains these smiles, but it's more than that... It's whole.

With a gesture so tender it almost makes her dizzy, Stiles wipes her cheekbones, soaking up the remnants of her emotions.

"You make me whole, Lydia. You and no one else."

Her answer comes right from her lungs with her exhale. "I love you." It's an alleviation, a proclamation. It's not the first time she pronounces these words, but they taste different when her tongue articulates them, like the echo of something that has been forged before the universe itself. The vibration through the universe of what has shaped their mere souls.

They gape at each other. Stiles's stare has a new intensity, a new focus maybe, one Lydia has never seen. If it's possible, he is even more whole, more handsome than usual. It wrecks her completely in the most pleasant way. He trusts her with his love, and she takes it.

She feels herself grow bigger, grow wider for him.

Him… It has always been for him.

Softly, he kisses her cupid bow and the corners of her mouth. She knows he is grinning just like she is as their fingers are delicately trying to unravel each other's towel in between spellbound caresses. All she feels against her lips are his dimples. When he lowers himself against her after discarding his towel, the hotness of his skin and the heaviness of his stomach instill a yearning so strong she is sure he can read it in her eyes.

"It's you, Lydia. It has always been you," he murmurs as he takes her cheek in his soft palm, his fingers cradling her hair and leaving trails of electricity everywhere they massage her skull.

Lydia is mesmerized, watches him with an open mouth until his lips are on hers. He kisses them, taking in each of her exhales before kissing her thoroughly as she lets her hands worship every inch of his burning skin. Everything in her is tugging with need for him. He is right there, but she needs him more. She needs him inside of her. She needs him happy and confident, strong and vulnerable, loving and caring, trusting. She needs all of him.

Her stomach clenches with need again when he wraps an arm under her lower back, cajoling her closer to him and positioning himself right against her. When he enters her, she heaves a moaning sigh and swallows his with a kiss. He feels so good, and it's not just physical, it's everything about him – it's his love, it's his soul inside hers. And she tells him.

She tells him again, not even realizing that a few year ago, her first rule was to never open up to people, never tell them, never let them know… But how could she not tell him? Nothing has ever been as real as their love, nothing as worthwhile as him.

So, she tells him.

She tells him again, and again how good he makes her feel. Hooking her legs a little higher around his waist with each thrust of his hips, she exalts in each of the moans and groans that flutter out of his lungs. They are like poetry for her mouth, for her neck, her breasts. She isn't afraid to let go completely, to lose herself in him, to give herself entirely.

Wholly.

She lets him read the elation and ecstasy on her features when he shows her with simple caresses how much he pays attention to her, how much he listens to her, knows her. She gives him her most intimate notes, all her smiles. Her words have turned into a loop of beautiful and love you so much along the road. She gives him what he desires too, every stroke, every poem, and every kiss that makes him shudder and throb against her. Because she knows him too, she listens and pays attention. She cares just as much as he does, and it would be unthinkable to not show him. Every rush of blood that makes his heart jump, every sudden strong emotion going through him, every sound he makes before it's even born… She feels everything, and she loves him, she loves him so much…

She meets each of his movements, her way to show him how much she trusts him, how he helped her get rid of every shred of shame, guilt, and prejudice she could have. She keeps talking to him and his gaze keeps intensifying. His whole body is starting to tremble above hers, his muscles twitch more and more. When his arms begin to give way, like they always do, she welcomes his lovely head in her arms. His free hand, beside her ear, is turning into a fist, and the other one stiffening around her waist, making it harder for her to arch up. She adores him like that, giving himself completely to her, trusting her, not being afraid to crush her because he knows he doesn't. He knows she never feels threatened by him. He knows he gives her safety when he is whispering the sweetest things to her. She holds him tight against her, knowing that he'll always need more space for his love, for his entire being, knowing he can find it in her. And he does. He does, and he is so beautiful in is his release that it leaves Lydia speechless. He watches her when a last wave of electricity runs through her veins and muscles, an expression of marvel printed all over him.

They catch their breath in an eager kiss, and he watches her again, sheer beads of sweat making his skin glisten in the faint snow light.

"D'you know what I see when I look at you?"

Lydia shakes her head, still unable to speak, hypnotized by his shortness of breath and this serene force in him.

He tilts his head, blinking and letting his affectionate stare seek details about her that he doesn't know yet but wants to learn.

"Your laugh, your smile. You used to hide them from me. When we first met...even our first nights together like this, you would look away, or hide. Now… Now you let me see everything. I'm so grateful, Lyds. I want you to know that… You do know it, right?"

"Yeah…" she can't help outlining his face from the tip of her fingers, knowing these words will loop in her memories for centuries. It awakens a throbbing in her veins. It should be impossible to still be longing for him. How can she still feel this pang in her core, this yearning when she can still sense him everywhere? But she does, and he fills the void again, leaving trails of his affection along her throat, chin, and mouth. "You make me whole, Stiles," she sighs as he stills against her mouth.

In this moment, she knows words are failing him, but it doesn't matter. Lack of words has never been an issue between them anyway. He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, the faint brush sending shivers down Lydia's arms. She can't help but smile, sighing again as he shifts to lie next to her. He watches her, still smiling because she won't let her former self hide her happiness from him, her euphoria. He loves her…

She glides her hand through his hair, ruffling it the way he does in the morning. He looks proud, proud of her and maybe even a bit proud of himself. He has every right to be, she thinks. She can't resist drawing him into a kiss, whimpering into his mouth as she feels his touch against her rib cage, warming up her breasts with his entire palm before encircling her waist to keep her in a snug nest against him.

In his hands, in his kisses, with his soul bundled up in the crook of hers, she is whole.

Words are failing her too. All she has left is her love.

Her love and the certainty that her soul is the only space big enough, wide enough for his emotions, his love, the way he feels about everything. She gives him solace, a chance to bloom even more.

And he is the only one burning warm enough to keep her alive.

Everything has gone quiet outside, and the night is pitch black. It makes it easy to curl up against each other and find refuge in their wheat field. They talk for hours, wandering in each other's minds, discovering things they had never seen. Things that make them fall in love with each other all over again. They talk and they talk. They kiss and they hold each other until their bodies wake up. Then, they open their eyes to a reality painted in golden hues of brown and green.

* * *

It's late in the morning. Lydia knows it because the Sun is already high in the sky. After showering together, she and Stiles went down for breakfast, then took the Jeep here: to the part of the beach where she asked him to prom in another lifetime.

Scott told them it was abandoned, but she hadn't realized what that meant.

It's barely recognizable.

Where the ice-cream bar used to spread its tables and deck chairs, lies a wide expanse of sand, scarred with traces of regular campfires, surrounded by burst open couches, sleeping bags, and rubbish. From where Lydia stands, she can see a few chairs and tables; stained by the passing of a decade and held together with a strong chain against one of the last remaining Ice Corner walls. She hides her frozen nose in her scarf and takes her hands out of her pockets just long enough to bury her head further into her forest green beanie. The icy wind is biting her nose and every bit of skin it can find. She feels raw, exposed, and something keeps twitching in her stomach, making her restless and uncomfortable.

It's more than the desolation of this beach. It's Stiles's absence. He isn't far away. He just went back to the Jeep to get some blankets, but she feels his absence in her bones, deeper than ever.

Something wonderful happened between them… Not just last night, when she could touch it in the air and taste it in his panting kisses… The truth is, it started changing ever since they arrived in Beacon Hills.

Coming back here has been challenging, but it allowed their souls even closer, it allowed them to meld. And in that melding, they exchanged a bit of who they are. There is a glimmer of her strength inside of him now, something new, something that will help him find his balance if he loses it.

For her.

And she found freedom. She soaked up everything that makes Stiles who he is, and she found her balance too. Not in science like she used to, but in a new family, in love, and in acceptance.

In him. It has always been him… Stiles. The only cardinal point she ever needed.

Her soul is drawn in his direction when she senses him not far away. She makes out his silhouette in the distance, and her mind leads her to last night – to the way he held her, the way she sensed his soul seeking hers when she was starting to lose her way in the dark. He is still there, somewhere curled up in her soul. His name is written in the stars, above a house that is surrounded by a wheat field. She thinks of Scott and Kira in Oregon, of their offer. After all, why not?

Stiles is at her side before she has the time to miss him more. They bundle up under the blankets against the trunk of a fallen palm tree and just like that, she recognizes the beach she had in mind. The sky is a perfect wintery shade of blue after an entire night of snowfall. Bright, almost white, on the horizon...and brisk too. Even the wind has turned into a soft breeze that plays with the lose strands of her hair.

Lydia and Stiles stay silent. She listens to the sound of the waves; breathing in each time they roll over the shore, breathing out when they retrieve their gems of sand and snow. Against her head, Stiles's chest rises and falls at the same rhythm.

"I can't do it…" he eventually murmurs, gently coaxing her out of her daze.

From her place against him, she tilts her head up. "What?"

"I can feel your soul. I can still feel you reaching me, and I'm trying to reach back, but I… I don't know how I did it last night."

He flashes her a quick, embarrassed smile before getting engrossed in something at his feet. Affection overwhelms her, and Lydia sneaks one hand out from beneath their nest of blankets to steer his chin to her. "It's okay, whatever you're doing, I can feel it… But I'll show you, I'll teach you if you want."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah… Yeah, I will."

"Thanks…" He clears his throat and continues, "You know, I was thinking… It's a big country… Maybe we could use some time in a place that isn't Beacon Hills...to think everything through and…settle for a while. Kind of like we did in Poland. I'm not talking about buying something, just renting a nice place for a while… A year, maybe more, maybe less. Long enough to make some money, maybe for you to take painting class and for me to work on my mom's recipes. I… That house we saw… I really like the idea…What do you think?"

He is nervous, she recognizes it in his voice, and she sees it now on his features when she sits up.

It makes her answer even quicker. "I'm thinking that Beacon Hills isn't in Oregon."

As predicted, gleams of winter sun flicker in the honey of his irises, and he is so beautiful she thinks she will never be able to live without him looking like that every day for the rest of their lives. "You wanna meet Kira and Scott tomorrow? See where it leads us?" she resumes.

"Yeah. Yes, I do." He gapes at her and continues in a voice so earnest and vulnerable that it makes her lungs swell with passion. "You're amazing… It… It means a lot to me, you know. The fact that you…" He shrugs, spotting a couple of seabirds playing above the glistening waves. Lydia is almost certain she knows what he wants to say, but she lets him find his words. "That you like them, that they make you feel good. It was important to me."

"I know, my love."

He tastes like bliss and chilly wind when she kisses him, and she can't get enough of his lips, of this kiss, of him.

"I liked it yesterday," she timidly voices after catching her breath. "I came back to your house on my own and opened the door with your key… It felt…like I belonged, like…it was my home too."

"Because it is. You do belong there… You've always belonged there, Lyds. You know…" he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trail all the way down her neck, soulful eyes roaming over her face. "You're the reason why I could stay in my house yesterday. Without you, I would have given up."

His words make her stomach flutter, warming up her entire body. He leans to drop a kiss on her forehead, and she can sense the excitement in him before he voices it. "How about I take you home with me?"

His voice mingles with the curls of the wind, with the soft susurrus of the ocean, and Lydia nods against his lips.

* * *

Ghosts hide in the doorway. They hide in each sharp click of the key turning into the lock.

Stiles watches Lydia, his hand in hers. She wipes her shoes on the doormat before taking them off and putting them neatly on the inner mat, like she probably did a thousand times in another life.

Once inside, she turns around, nothing but patience and affection printed on her features.

"Go ahead," he answers her unspoken question. "I just… I need a moment."

She simply brushes her lips over his cheekbone with a soft, "Okay", before stepping further into the house.

The wind is still howling through the porch, and when Stiles crosses the threshold, it stops. A split second maybe, but enough for him to glimpse back and realize that the ghosts are gone… Free.

All of them.

He relishes in the peacefulness surging inside of him. The doorway is now empty, ready to welcome new memories, ready to welcome this one. Lydia trying to find two tea bags in the empty kitchen cupboards, filling the house with sounds of yesterday, sounds of forever… sounds of home.

In the end, it will always be Lydia. His compass. His everything.

He hears her humming a song they heard over breakfast and with a smile. He enters, pushing the door closed with his foot.


	24. Forever

**A/N: Last chapter before the epilogue! Thank you for reading, I hope you'll enjoy the end of our journey :)**

 **After all of this, we made it, and I will close my eyes**  
 **This night knowing, I kept the very first promise**  
 **I ever made you.**

 **\- Tyler Knott Gregson -**

Lydia can't sleep.

It has become a habit these last few days, and when she glances at their alarm clock, she isn't surprised to see that it has only been two minutes since last time she checked. 4.46 AM… She sighs, shutting her eyes to block the streetlight outside, but it's not enough and she needs to cover them with her forearm to be in the complete darkness. It feels good for a few seconds. She needs to remember that this is their first night here, in their new house, that soon, they'll buy thicker curtains and that even if it's not a big one, they can move their bed to one of the two other rooms.

Some time passes, and she wakes again. 4.55 AM… Maybe she should try Kira's advice – warm milk infused with chamomile and a spoonful of honey.

But she is afraid to move and wake Stiles.

She peeks at him from under her elbow. He is snoring lightly, his head buried in his pillow and his mind probably wandering into some deep dream. His fingers on the pillowcase are faintly twitching, lightly strumming on the strings of her heart. She hears every note, each of them expanding the heavy beating of her heart. Endearment, adoration, love… It creates a yearning in her, shapes a smile on her lips. Faced with such glow, the streetlight can only pale away until all Lydia sees is him.

Him and his aura… Her eternal Sun, the love of her life, the one she will never abandon because he is part of her, and she is part of him. As far as she can remember, this is the first promise they made to each other.

 _We'll heal together. I'll never leave you._

She can't sleep, but she loves him.

She loves their house and every problem that will stand in the way of their night. She already loves the conversations they will have about those useless curtains, about that ugly painting in the living room, about furniture, about who gets the right sink in the bathroom and how to tidy up the kitchen. All those things she used to hate when she had to move in a new place… All of them. She loves them too because they outline the steps that she and Stiles will take together to make a home out of this house. If something so beautiful can emerge from a few sleepless nights, so be it.

She loves their problems.

She already loves solving them with him, and if she could, she would wake him up to start right now. Nothing scares her anymore. She can't wait to continue their journey.

But they need to sleep.

She turns on her back, trying to close her eyes again… She feels restless. Her blood pulses too strong in her veins for her to stay still, and her mind wanders in the direction she has tried to avoid ever since they went to bed.

Just thinking about it ignites something more in her, it tugs deliciously in her stomach and sends throbs all the way down to the tip of her toes and through her chest and to her mouth.

The day they went looking for a new mailbox, an idea took root in the morrow of her bones. That was five days ago, and it won't leave her. If she is honest with herself, it's not like she tried to make it go away... It keeps growing, and she relishes in the sensations it creates in her body. She can feel it – its branches and leaves… tickling all those butterflies in her stomach. The ones awaking whenever they sense him near.

 _Stiles_ … The love of her life. The one who keeps proving to her that what they say is a lie because a love like the one they share never dies, never fades.

But Lydia doesn't know how to ask him. It's not like she has any doubt about his answer, or that it feels like something too big. It's simply that she physically doesn't know _how_. She almost did it right in the store, but her body rebelled against her. Something had stirred in her, the air escaped her lungs, and her cheeks stole all the blood in her body.

Stiles has been delightfully clueless about it. A part of Lydia wishes he had seen her, teased her until she would have spitted it out, but the other part of her is glad he hasn't. It's often difficult to surprise him. He is always so attentive about everything, caring… Knowing she can surprise him with this makes it even more special.

He moans faintly in his sleep, and Lydia wants nothing more than join him in his dream, find a way to squeeze in between his arms.

She can't wake him up. They have so many things to do in the morning… So, she gingerly inches closer to him, feeling the ghost of his kiss. She shouldn't have done that because he moans again, and his breath is warm, and it spreads tingles all over her skin and through her veins. He can feel her, she knows it because he holds his breath, unconsciously waiting for her kiss. She answers his silent plea, faintly brushing her lips over his as she props herself up on her elbows, lying on her stomach next to him.

"Ah...gain…" she hears him mumble, his body already stirring to make more room for her. It makes her laugh fondly in the quiet darkness. She does it again, and again, giving her kisses a little more pressure every time she feels his lips seeking hers until he lies fully awake on his back.

"I'm sorry," she whispers when he opens his eyes and runs his hand through her hair. "I didn't want to wake you."

"Can't say I hate being woken up like this… What time is it?"

She winces and hides her face against his shoulder. "Almost 5…"

"You still can't sleep, huh?"

She shakes her head, already feeling better now that he is with her, his hand massaging her skull and neck, his body enveloping her and taking her with him in his sleepiness.

"You wanna try that thing Kira told you about with the milk?"

"I was actually considering the idea..."

His hand runs over her shoulder and around her neck, coaxing her to straighten it up,

"But I was afraid to wake you up by getting out of bed."

The light of a car outside glides over his face, and she sees him smirk. "Oh, I see… So, you decided to kiss me instead."

"Are you complaining now?" She wants to sound cajoling, but she saw adoration fluttering on his face in the passing light, and she knows she failed.

"I'm really not."

From the tip of his fingers, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before outlining her cheek so slowly she thinks she could burst out of love. Her lips find his wrist, and she breathes him in.

"I'm sorry, I just… You were so adorable, and you held your breath."

"I must have been dreaming of you…"

It's when he tells her things like that, when that cracked tone of his voice carries each syllable to her and she feels them slowly work their way from her stomach to the corners of her lips… That's when she knows... Their love is eternal because it can be reborn without ever having to die.

As an answer, she plants kisses all the way down to his elbow until she can nuzzle up in the crook of his arm. All she can do is give a voice to the throbs in her body by exhaling his name. He drapes her body with caresses and strokes, the darkness giving in contrast to each of his touches more weight, more intent.

"Come on," he eventually rasps. "I'll make you that milk thing."

He is about to sit up, delicately untangling from her when she catches the collar of his shirt. "No, go back to sleep. It's fine… I'll try not to wake you when I come back."

"Lyds…" He coaxes her fist to loosen and laces their fingers with so much tenderness she can't move, hypnotized by his touch and his voice, still sleepy, but already filled with care. "You've had insomnia for a few days now, and I always find out in the morning, when I can't do anything about it. Let me help… Please?"

She can't resist him, and she doesn't even want to try. "Okay."

He gets out of bed, and she follows him before the cold has a chance to take his place under the sheets. The hallway is still unknown, and she walks with her arms outstretched in the dark, letting the sound of his footsteps guide her and breathing to tame her beating heart.

"Stiles, you okay?" she worries when she doesn't hear him anymore.

"Yeah, I'm just looking for the light…" She feels the frame of the kitchen door under her fingers and all of a sudden, the soft light coming from the range hood envelops them.

Stiles is already rummaging for a pan in their unopened boxes, and anticipation is tying knots in Lydia's stomach. In an attempt to distract herself, she takes the room in from her spot. Only unopened boxes everywhere and the table the owners left for them. The first thing they did was put a picture on the fridge, and Lydia finds herself drawn to it. They took it when they visited Kira at the maternity ward after she gave birth to Grace, almost a month ago.

They are all there, happy, hugging… The new family and Melissa along with Stiles and herself… She remembers Scott calling at six in the morning, his endearing frenzied tone when he announced that he was driving Kira to the hospital. They all went to visit her two days later.

She knows Melissa has a copy of that same photo in her guest bedroom on the exact same wall that had intimidated Lydia on their first night in Beacon Hills. Now, she is part of it, part of that family and that simple thought gives her question all of its meaning.

"Our first family picture…" Stiles's voice startles her. He drops a kiss in her hair as he makes his way to the stove with the jar of chamomile, letting his hand follow the curve of her waist.

For a while, she observes him scrupulously plunging the dried flowers into the milk, one by one, soothing scent immediately filling the entire room. Then she watches him stir the milk clockwise, counterclockwise…

The faint light above him perfectly outlines the structure of his face, his nose, his chin, his cheekbones, creating the kind of atmosphere where every sound needs to be muffled and bodies need to be as near as possible to not disturb the silence of those stolen hours. Everything seems set up to offer the ideal frame for her sleepless confession, and it awakens exhilaration in her lungs again until it reaches her lips in a grin she can't contain.

It's now or never.

She moves to rest her cheek against his shoulder, wrapping one hand around his bicep and adding a few more flowers to the milk. "The first one from many…" she utters.

Stiles hums a low _mmh,_ and Lydia wonders if he can feel her heart pounding against his arm. He keeps stirring the milk and when it reaches the right temperature, he puts the pan aside to let it brew and turns the stove off.

"Why are you so nervous, Lyds?" he murmurs against her hair before planting a kiss there, making her heart swell with undying love for him.

"Because I wanna ask you something, and you're making me incredibly nervous," she confesses in the same hushed tone of voice. She feels his index under her chin, and she meets his gaze, her cheeks suddenly burning up, completely hypnotized by this strength radiating from him. He looks hypnotized too, their eyes pulling on the magnets in their hearts.

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yeah, you are."

"What am I doing?"

"You're… You're looking at me like… like…"

"Like what?"

"Like this… And all I think about is how much I love you, how much I want to kiss you, and I forget about my question."

Stiles lips curl up in a half-smile, and it's all it takes for Lydia to focus her attention on them. It feels like a daydream when Stiles reacts immediately, connecting their mouths in a gentle kiss and letting it linger over her lips until he can plant another kiss on her nose.

"What question?" he asks on his way back to her mouth in a breathless voice that turns every consonant into a promise, every vowel into a caress.

She gulps slowly after he kisses her again, leaning her forehead against his collarbone and waiting for his arms to engulf her and steady the whirling sensation his affection has created in her head.

"There's something I would like you to give me," she confides.

"What is it?"

She feels him step backwards until they reach the countertop, and she lets her body sag in the cradle of his.

"You know I'll give you anything." His fingers in her back trace random patterns over her pajama shirt and in those blissful heartbeats, the question forms in her head. She lets it out in an exhale, lifting her head to him on her first word.

"Your name… Would you give me your name?"

It takes him a few seconds to understand what she is saying, and she sees everything in his gorgeous brown eyes.

"M—My name?"

"Yeah, your name…" she nods, finding strength in the glow his palms diffuse into the small of her back.

He is still speechless, and his gaze steals the rest of her words. She leans her forearms on his chest following the movement induced by his hands when they run along her side to nest around her cheeks. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she can feel his do the same thing.

"Lyds…" It's barely a word, more an exhale that tickle the skin below her nose. It sweeps away a few strands of her hair that were clinging to her lips, and she had no idea a simple nod from him would make her heart burst like that. "Yes, yes of course, my love… Of course, I'll give you my name." Tears are accumulating behind her eyes, and he looks so handsome in this dim light, so emotional and bare that she won't let them hide him from her. "If I had known you wanted to spend the rest of your life spelling the name _Stilinski_ , I would have asked you myself."

They both let out light chuckling notes and their lips don't need more guidance to find each other.

"I can't give you a fancy ring, but I can give you my name," he voices in between kisses and hauling her up in his arms when she rises on her tiptoes to sit on the countertop behind him.

With her arms around his neck, she looks at him and shakes her head. "I don't care about a ring anyway, I just want your name…" She watches her words mingle with the love in his eyes, making them glisten until he needs to blink. Gently, she wipes his tears and guides his head into the crook of her neck, running her hand in his soft hair and down his nape. "That's all I want, Stiles. To share your name…" She can feel him catching his breath, and she takes his hand from her thigh to lace their fingers. "To share everything… _Stilinski_ written on our mailbox. Like a real family…"

Her emotions almost swallow her last word and Stiles straightens up, bringing her hand to his lips.

"I'll give you everything I can, Lyds. It's all yours anyway. I just… I don't have a lot, you know that—"

"That's not true. You gave me everything, more than I could have ever wished for."

"I said I would take you to Norway, but I can't even do that…"

"We'll go to Norway… Just, later, it's alright. We have our entire life."

"We won't have a honeymoon."

"You're my honeymoon…" She wants to kiss him and never stop, but neither of them dares moving, so they keep talking in hushed tones, slowly, because this moment has to stay intact in their memories. "My honeymoon, my honeysun, my honeystars… My honey everything…"

He exhales her name like it's the holiest sound in the universe.

Before his love overwhelms her completely, she adds, "We can always buy bikes and go camping somewhere for a few days, it will be just as perfect."

"Yeah… Yes, we can do that… I'd love that… Just my name, then?"

"Just your name…"

"You um… Wanna ditch everything we have planned tomorrow and go to City Hall to see what we need to do?"

"I'd like that..." She only realizes she is nibbling at her lips when she feels the smooth pressure of his thumb over them, coaxing them to soften.

"Is there something else you wanna ask, Lyds?"

 _Of course, he would know…_

"I was just wondering if... Is there anything you want? Something I can give you?"

After a pause, Stiles bites back his smirk and leans forward to whisper against her ear. "Keep teaching me how to visit you in your dreams." A few memories filter through his voice and cover her body in delicious tingles. He drops a kiss on her temple as her hands find the waistband of his pants. "Lyds, you already give me so much… Every day. I don't need more. And I mean that."

"I know… But we'll keep practicing if it means I can give you more."

Neither of them seems to be able to look away from each other. There is so much more Lydia wants to express, but the throbbing of her own pulse is invading all her senses. Stiles breaks the silence, his nails running up and down her arms doing nothing to help her collect her wits.

"Remember when we met Scott and Kira in Oregon for the first time?"

Lydia nods and grins as the memory plays in her mind. They had gotten lost, and it took them hours to get there because Stiles didn't want to use a map and kept asking her for random directions to follow. They laughed a lot that day.

"That's what I want every day," he confesses. "I want to keep feeling like we can be a little crazy from time to time, make no sense at all together." He lowers his voice, letting his fingers glide down her locks with the same delicacy as his words. "Keep taking random roads, so I can let you guide me, or so I can guide you… Whether we find whatever we're looking for here, or somewhere else doesn't matter. I don't care where I am, Lyds. In all the chaos that has been my life, there's only you... You and the path that led me to you, that brought us together. I have no idea what kind of compass we followed. Even when we could have thought it was misleading us, it was drawing us to each other, and it led us here. I want us to keep following it, you and me. I want to keep walking together. Whatever the path – easy or complicated, I want to keep making decisions with you. I want to be the one who reminds you to follow your instincts...even if it leads us in the opposite direction from our destination… You know, like getting closer to the ocean when we should have driven East…"

Lydia chuckles again at the memory. Stiles's words make hers seem smaller, and she has no idea how to express everything he makes her feel. The awe, the relief, the thrill at the idea of everything awaiting them, the gratefulness at everything that led them here… The love. The love that consumes her with a passion that she never thought could exist, that love that pulled her out of the darkness more than once, and that makes her want to live more, live for centuries. A love she'll never tire expressing.

"Stiles, every time... Every time, you leave me speechless. I always think that's the most beautiful thing you ever said to me, and you always find new ways, new words…"

"You're the most perfect muse, my heart." His eyes seem to catch something in his memories, and she can tell there's something in his mind. "My parents would have loved you, Lyds…so much… I can't help picturing us four having dinner for the first time…"

She stiffens at his confession, his wavering voice awakening an instinct of protection. "Stiles…"

"It's alright, I'm not sad, I promise. I'm just nostalgic… grateful..."

She knows he means it by the way his arms don't shake when they encircle her waist. He has come a long way and she couldn't be prouder of him.

"Good."

"But I was wondering something…" he continues.

"Tell me."

"It's just… Have you thought of your parents? Maybe you want to see them, or contact them now that we're here?"

His question doesn't take her by surprise, she knew it would come up eventually. She thinks of Thanksgiving a few months earlier, of that first time she was overwhelmed by what _family_ means, of her wish to be able to forgive them so she could forget about her pain and anger. She doesn't know how, but she has. It wasn't even her decision, she realizes. She has lived so many things with Stiles in… How long? She can only guess. And now, it's like nothing else happened in her life. Nothing but him, nothing but their life together.

And that's when it hits her. She straightens up in his embrace to peer at him, her hands encircling his biceps. "I don't need them. Not anymore. Stiles, I think I understand."

"What?"

"What you already had. I don't know how long we spent together, I couldn't possibly count how many times we fell asleep in each other's arms. My life before you… It doesn't matter anymore. You're right, its only purpose was to set us on the right path to find each other. I prayed for you, I didn't know it was you, but it was your soul I was calling every night, Stiles. Ten years… I have no idea what it means. It was just…before. And before doesn't matter." She feels breathless and yet, her voice is calm, controlled, a purring in the silence, coated in the mild fragrance of the milk and the music of Stiles's heart. "And you know what? You gave me more memories in our time together than what life gave me in the twenty-something years before I found you."

Her voice wavers at the end of her sentence, and Stiles reacts immediately, slowly connecting their lips to offer her words and emotions some support before leaning against her forehead. It's all Lydia needs to keep going.

"I don't need my parents because the hole they left in my life is gone. The wounds I had…they are all gone. I don't know how. I don't know when. I just know that you came along, I let you in, and you replaced everything. You're my everything, Stiles, and that's why _Martin_ doesn't mean anything to me anymore. That's why I want your name instead. I know you already gave it to me a long time ago because I've felt like a part of your family for a long time. Now, I want the entire world to know. I want people to call me by your name for the rest of eternity."

"God, Lyds… And I'm the one with beautiful speeches?" he tries to sound teasing, dropping a kiss on her cheekbone, but all Lydia hears in his tone is how much he is struggling to contain his emotions to be able to speak. "You did the same for me, you know? Even though I have happier childhood memories, it will always feel like my life began that day in the cemetery, as odd as it may sounds."

They both stare at each other, galvanization running deep in their flesh, carving out more joy to share, more beauty to cherish. Before sleep starts reclaiming their bodies, they let their arms bring each other into a hug – the kind they kept perfecting, the kind that feels like home.

Lydia's eyelids feel like they weigh a ton, their fluttering gradually slowing down.

"We should get some sleep…" Stiles murmurs against her neck, his lips dropping tiny shivers on her skin, and his voice melting into a sleepy tone.

Lydia hums a low _yes_ , but she can already feel Stiles's hand brushing up from her neck to her jaw and she lifts her head, parting her lips to let him kiss her slowly, deeply. They are both panting when they part.

"Where d'you wanna sleep? We can try another room if you think you'll sleep better," he offers.

She shakes her head, "Just in your arms, if that's alright."

His smile glides against her mouth in a nod, and she welcomes his lips again for another sleepy kiss, their tongues stroking each other tenderly and their bodies so tight she can feel the butterflies in his stomach swirling. She massages his sides, losing herself in his affection and when they finally go to bed, they don't even realize the sun in already rising, milk cooling off in the kitchen at the sound of birds stirring in the blue hour.

* * *

Four years go by. Four years that feel like so much more than four years from their old lives.

Time goes by differently now. Not in days, weeks, or months, but in love, respect, and promises. In the knowledge that they'll chose each other. Always.

Time isn't cyclic with Stiles. It's not linear either. Instead, it's made out of eternities contained in each second spent together or spent in a shared dream. Real time keeps running, but they know how to escape it.

They escape it in the evening, when they come home from work at the same hour, and it feels like the day has just began because nothing compares to being together, living at the same time, in the same place. Sharing the present.

They don't blame time. It does what it has to do, and it sends them gifts sometimes.

When it puts reading glasses on Lydia's nose for example. Stiles wishes she would wear them all the time because he keeps melting at the way the bridge of her nose seems to frown as if it still wondered what that extra weight was.

When it gives Stiles his first white hair on his left temple. He keeps cutting it, but Lydia knows exactly where it is, and that knowledge fills her with pride. She is there. Witnessing everything. She is part of his life.

Time also fades their scars, and for lack of new ones, their skin becomes smooth under their kisses. Lydia never tires of kissing Stiles's skin where it's hot from the sun after an afternoon spent by the river, or when he has goosebumps on wintry nights. She knows from experience how different it feels to be kissed on an un-scared skin, how it regains some sensitivity, and if she can give him something new, she will never hesitate to do it.

But time gets jealous of their shelter every now and then.

On a Sunday, it draws their attention.

They were talking in their kitchen, perched on the countertop while finishing lunch, when someone had knocked on the door. Stiles opened it while something was curling up in a ball inside of Lydia, as if she was sensing danger. She couldn't see the front door, but from her spot, she heard the two voices and they had scraped down her spine like nails on a blackboard.

Her parents.

They didn't stay long, and they are gone now, but Lydia still feels trapped. She tries to remember that it's Sunday, that she is with Stiles, that they were having a nice day until then.

In the morning, they went for a late walk. The streets were empty, and the sky beautiful… But it's fading away, and she knows she is slowly falling into a nightmare, a fugue state.

Her first instinct is to want to get out of it, go back to Stiles and their cozy Sunday, but she remembers Alan's advice: _It can't hurt you anymore. If you stop resisting it, you'll feel better once you get through._ She is with Stiles anyway, she feels his hands in hers, a comforting weight that is anchoring her to reality.

The flashes that come to her clearly have something to do with her parents' visit. They overwhelm her with those feelings of frustration and anger she had when she was younger. It was so long ago that she barely recognizes them...

Sometimes, she is able to maintain a certain distance between her _visions_ and herself, some buffer that allows her to observe without feeling emotionally involved. But not today. She feels herself get carried away in that torrent she can't make out anything, only this old inhibited rage. She doesn't want it. Not today. Her parents' visit was enough.

In that chaos, she seeks Stiles, has done it a thousand times.

He tried once to go with her when she was in that state, but it's not the same as the dreams they share at night, and it took Stiles two hours and fourteen minutes to wake up from it. Lydia had never been so terrified.

Since then, Stiles never tried again, but he is waiting for her in a safe space. With Alan's help, they _built_ it somewhere in her mind. All Lydia needs to do if she feels overwhelmed is to reach out in that direction, and Stiles will find her.

She doesn't even realize that's what she is doing when she is already back to reality.

Stiles is whispering against her ear, and she is enveloped in his embrace, one of his hands on her lower back and the other one holding hers at the side. The first thing she takes in is his warmth, his body pressed against hers, his chest, his cheek, and his mouth. She and Stiles are moving, swaying from side to side and spinning in slow circles, back in their kitchen. She only feels the smile stretching on her lips when she hears his in his low voice. He is singing along to the Christmas song playing on his phone.

They are dancing.

It's not even Christmas, but they discovered that Christmas feels a lot more like Christmas when it's not in December.

"Stiles…"

"I've got you, Lyds," he murmurs even lower. "I'm here. I'm right here. You can come back."

"How… How long was I _gone_?"

"Not long, don't worry. I only played it twice."

"Oh…" the tension is her shoulder disappears with a sigh. Sometimes, it's a lot longer, hours… They had a long and tiring week, and she would hate thinking she wasted what was left of their precious Sunday together by being _out_.

"It didn't go well?" he inquires.

She shakes her head, burying it in the crook of his neck and already feeling that irrational rage take hold of her again. Stiles lets go of her hand to cup the back of her skull, and she wraps her arms around his neck.

He is still in that safe place in her mind. She feels him and stays with him. Outside that circle, a storm is howling, a wind from her past, screaming in her ears.

Something is trying to take her back to her vision, but she struggles against it. She shouldn't, she knows she shouldn't because she knows it's always more difficult after, but she doesn't have the strength to face whatever her brain is trying to show her. Not now.

Stiles must feel it because he talks to her, keeping her nestled against him.

"You're back here now, with me. In our house, in our kitchen…"

"Mmh…"

"Picture the circles, like Alan told you…"

"Yeah… The pack's symbol… We're safe."

"Yes, we are. You're safe in my arms. We're in the circle. The others, they are all protecting us in the second circle, remember?"

"Mmh…"

"Scott, Kira, Melissa, Alan…"

She breathes slowly in, repeating his words like a silent mantra, picturing the circles, like Alan showed her.

"Allison and your parents too," Lydia eventually adds.

Stiles bends down to rest his cheek against her hair, and she feels him inhale.

"Yeah, Allison and my parents too…" He slowly spins them around two times, giving her the time she usually needs. "D'you picture them?"

"Mmh…"

"Now, come back to me, my love. Find your way back to me. I'm right there, right in the middle."

She lets her mind and her heart get enveloped by their present, the safe haven they carved in space and time. She listens to Stiles. She listens to his voice while soft notes of their Christmas song play along in a loop in the background.

"We had a long week, you and me. We barely saw each other. I hate when that happens… Remember why?"

She lets the question form in her mind, lets his words and their meaning cast their reality against the fog that has invaded her, and she nods. "The cook was sick at the diner, so you had to cover for him, and I had to work more at the museum because of the new exhibit that's taking ages to be ready."

"Yeah… Do we still agree on the fact that we'll both try to get our next Friday and Monday free to make up for it?"

"Oh yes…"

"Even if it means we'll be a pain in the ass for everyone else?"

"I don't care. I want my four-day weekend with you." She lifts her head just long enough to meet his eyes. "With my _husband_."

It's been almost four years, but saying those words always has the same euphoric effect in her stomach.

Stiles grins with a wink. "That's right."

Then, she tucks her nose back into his neck, kissing his skin before relaxing in his scent again.

"What else…" he resumes. "Yesterday I picked you up after work to buy a fridge. Now, everything in this house is ours, do you believe it?"

"Barely…"

"Only the walls aren't ours… I can't believe it sometimes either. When we first got here, we had literally nothing. No money, no jobs… I'm still convinced that the only reason we found a place to rent was thanks to you and your Field's Medal. They were _so_ suspicious of me, but when they asked about you, and you told them about it… I knew that was it, they couldn't resist you. Who could anyway?"

He breathes against her neck, and it sends shivers all along her spine. She squeezes him lovingly, "Don't be silly. You're the most lovable person I know. If they couldn't see it, it's their loss. Anyway, you had to have made a good impression on them too. They wouldn't have rented us the house otherwise."

"I know, love…"

He rubs her back, and she lets her body sag against him, relishing in that peace he manages to instill in her. She already feels better, and it feels so good to be in his arms that she doesn't want to move. She wants to keep dancing like that, to keep listening to him.

Over his shoulder, she catches sight of their dining table in the living room. The first thing they bought along with the mailbox, right after getting married. It was her first table, Stiles's too. They told Scott and Kira about it even before telling them about their marriage, and they teased them about it.

Lydia wasn't even the slightest bit annoyed about that, not at all. She didn't expect anyone else but Stiles to understand… But a _table_ … with _six chairs_ … That was something. She never bothered about a dining table before and neither did Stiles. They both used to eat in the kitchen, on a table that served many purposes, or on their couch, in their car… In Europe together, nothing was theirs but their love and then… Then, they had a dining table with chairs – because they have friends and a family they could invite into their home. _Home_ …

Like a reflex, she tightens her arms around Stiles, and he keeps talking.

"Remember the first time you came back from your painting class with all your equipment and settled in the study?"

She nods, already knowing where he is going with that and feeling her chest brim with her love for him.

"It was on a Friday night. We spent the entire night settling your stuff there… The morning after, you woke up early to try something the teacher showed you. I kissed you when I woke up. We had breakfast together, and then you went back to the study, but…" his body shakes with tiny waves of laughter. "But we kept talking to each other from across the house, remember?"

"Yeah," she answers him in a chuckle. "It was the first and last time I painted there."

She remembers talking with him for a few minutes like that before deciding that painting in the kitchen _with him_ would be just as good...if not, better.

His irises catch a few rays of sunshine when he lowers his head to meet her gaze. "I like it better that way… Together."

"Me too," she acknowledges in a whisper as they nuzzle up against each other a bit more.

Lydia loves those weekends they spend almost entirely in the kitchen. Stiles, trying recipes for the diner and Lydia, painting by his side. They taste everything he makes, and they end up sitting side by side on the countertop, eating directly from the pans and discussing what kind of spices he could use, what vegetable, what side dish would go well with it… It's often the middle of the afternoon when they do the dishes.

He tells her how proud he is of her. She has grown a lot more confident in her drawing and painting skills. She isn't afraid anymore to show her work to the others in her classes.

And then, there's Andrea.

A nineteen-year-old girl who went to Alan for help after having been _bitten_ last year by something, someone. When Alan came for a visit, he told Lydia about her, asking her if she could help. Stiles remembers the long discussions that followed. Lydia had been scared to dive back into the supernatural. They talked a lot, together, with Alan, with Scott and Kira, even Melissa… and Lydia eventually said yes. Andrea is doing a lot better now…

"You're helping someone, Lyds, do you realize it? You're making a real difference in a stranger's life. Who knows? Maybe someday, she'll go back home, and she'll bring the same peace you brought her to someone else who has lived the same things. You're changing lives, Lyds. You're _saving_ lives."

Lydia shifts in his arms to press the bridge of her nose against his.

"You saved mine too."

All she sees are his eyes, riveted by hers, so big that all she can make out is their incredible brown. Deep, soulful, loving.

"Stiles…"

"Mmh?"

"I'm so tired of not spending my days with you."

And she is, she really is. Those words weigh on her tongue when she articulates them. Their weight settles on her chest, and she is reminded of all those times when he has the night shifts, and she gets home too late to see him, how she cries herself asleep on his pillow because she misses him too much. She recalls waking up when he crawls into bed, finally relishing in his arms, and crying with him – both in relief and frustration because, in a few hours, it will be her turn to get up. Sometimes, they'd rather not sleep at all and end up talking instead.

She can't stand it anymore. She needs a change.

"Yeah, me too…" Stiles pauses, seeming to hesitate to say something.

"What?"

"Just… I have a surprise," he discloses with a half-smile. "Maybe I found the beginning of a solution. I'll show you in two months... during our vacation."

"Really?"

"Yeah… At least, I hope so."

On the countertop, the battery of Stiles's phone dies and the music stops. "How are you feeling?" he inquires as they gradually stop swaying.

"Better…"

"That's a small _better…_ Wanna cuddle on the couch for a while?"

His tone is enough to loosen the vice around her chest, and she can feel her blood give more colors to her cheeks.

"Always…"

"Go ahead," he lets go of her with one kiss at her hairline. "I'm right behind you."

A few minutes later, he is with her, a steaming cup of vanilla green tea in his hands. When she brings it to her nose, the scent tickles the corner of her lips and coaxes them to curl up.

"Thanks," she murmurs as he sits next to her, lifting his arm to let her snuggle up against him.

Slowly, silence spreads in the room, coating them in something peaceful, finishing by absorbing the waves and ripples her parents' unexpected visit created in their home. Her thoughts get quieter and quieter, hushed by Stiles's caresses on her temple, the comforting rise and fall of his chest… And the rest of their Sunday discreetly reenters the atmosphere. Through the half-closed shutters, a few rays of sunshine are drawing shapes on their wooden coffee table. In their wake, specks of dust are dancing, spinning in slow circles.

"I should have said something," Stiles utters against her temple, and Lydia is taken back an hour earlier.

Everything seemed surreal. Their voices, their faces, and her mother's tears that hadn't moved her. Neither she nor Stiles said anything. She didn't understand why her parents were there, _together_. She thought maybe they came to seek forgiveness, so she had given it to them without feeling any bitterness, but later, she saw their engagement rings, and her mother explained they were soon getting remarried. They were just _passing by_ because the room they wanted to book for the reception wasn't far away.

Natalie kept saying they had changed, and Lydia wondered if they realized they hadn't even tried to know who Stiles was. They never even alluded to the fact that she was called Stilinski now and not Martin anymore. A big part of their daughter's life was unknown to them, and it didn't seem to matter. The last thing Lydia had said to her mother all those years ago was that she was going to France to visit Allison's grave. Natalie didn't even try to find out what happened after, why she came here, to Oregon.

No, they haven't changed, and saying something wouldn't have made any difference.

After some time, Stiles curses, a faint anger wavering in his voice. "They don't realize how precious your forgiveness is. I should have…" he shrugs, heaving a long sigh. "I don't know… It took you years to find it in yourself to forgive them, and they didn't even seem to care about it. I hate it."

Lydia is speechless, still lost between the safety of his body and voice and the memories that she tries to approach extra carefully to avoid another waking nightmare. Stiles is right, her parents didn't seem to care about any of it. When they left, they didn't promise anything. No holidays together, no cards, no phone calls. Nothing. It's for the best, that's for sure, but still, Lydia feels like they brushed her off from the back of their hands like a tiny insect. It's not fair. She already feels herself getting carried away into nervous giggles and uncontrollable sobs like she did earlier in Stiles's arms, but she needs to stay anchored here.

"I hate it too…"

"One word from you, and we take the Jeep," he continues. "One word, I swear… We know where they're going after all."

In a fleeting daze, she lets herself imagine... Stiles, making a scene in the big empty ball room, coming to her defense, and making them listen to the list of everything she went through. Her parents would be left speechless in front of the force of nature that is Stiles. But then, she remembers that they wouldn't understand, and that they would find a way to team up against him, attack the love of her life with the same sharp words they used on her. She won't have that. She will never let that happen.

She sips on her tea and sets it on the table before turning to fold her legs on the couch, leaning her cheek against his bicep. "I would love to see that, but this is not a good idea."

"You sure?"

She nods, laying a kiss on the side of his chest from the tip of her lips. "I don't need it anymore, I just wanna go back to our cozy Sunday, to our life and family. It felt good to finally be able to tell them I forgave them because it's true. Whether they understand it or not doesn't matter. I can forget about them now. Completely. Between you and them, I'll always chose you. Always."

Stiles gives the top of her skull a long kiss, breathing her in. "They don't deserve you."

Their voices get soft, almost whispers in the air, as if their souls also needed caresses to appease their bristled hairs. Outside, clouds are gliding on the blue sky and one ray of sunshine glides with them on Stiles's skin. With the same leisureliness, the same awe, Lydia traces paths between his moles. On his arm, on his cheek and neck. They keep talking, murmuring to slowly come back to their own reality, dawning light weaving a home mantel out of the atoms around them.

Soon, they are supposed to go to the hardware store with Kira and Scott to buy all the equipment they need to convert their basement into a garage and a "full moon room". Lydia listens to Stiles talk about it. She knows he can't wait to start, and like every time he talks about it, he gets emotional. Lydia can't do anything else but follow him.

There was a time when he would have never thought something like that could be for him. Despite the years passing by, despite all the ways his life has changed, he is still mesmerized by those miracles. It makes Lydia love him even more. She knows helping Scott and Kira is also a way for him to be sure that when the time comes, he will know how to build a house for them, or that at least, he will have some basic knowledge. It reassures him, and she listens to him talk about it again. He never tires of it, and neither does she.

Evening falls without them noticing, and just like that, the memory of the Martins fades away, replaced by their own reality, they own eternities of never-ending love. When they go to bed that night, Lydia is surprised again by how everything is more manageable with Stiles. There was a time when seeing her parents would have probably crushed her for weeks…months maybe...

But now, she remembers the streetlights, the thin curtains, and how long it took them to buy all those pieces of furniture.

Stiles is already under the covers, and she peers at him from her side of the bed, grinning.

"What?" he teases, the same amusement glued to his lips.

She gets under the covers and they automatically let their bodies cuddle.

"I just love our problems."

Just as they have done, a countless number of times, Stiles kisses her temple, whispering, "I love you", into her ear, and they fall asleep.

* * *

Two other months go by a lot quicker than they had thought and finally, their long-awaited vacations arrive.

Stiles has been awake for two hours already, and Lydia is still sound asleep against him. She has her back to him, but under his arm, he feels her ribs regularly rise and fall. He relishes in that feeling, it's the first time in the last week that they managed to sleep more than six hours in a row together.

The alarm clock should go off soon. Stiles keeps craning his neck to glance at the red numbers that seem to have decided to drive him crazy. He has been planning this surprise for Lydia for months now and there is only one thing he wants: for the day to start. Finally, "59" becomes "00" and the radio switches on, still startling him.

In his arms, Lydia grumbles, and Stiles hastens to shut his eyes, adding his own groans to hers and holding her tighter when she turns around to tuck her head under his chin. He feels her hands cling to the collar of his pajamas and weakly utter sounds of disapproval. He can't help opening his eyes, letting endearment bloom on his lips. He'll never grow tired of the habit she has of finding refuge in his arms. It's the first thing she does every morning, even when she knows she doesn't have time for much more than an exhale. It constricts his chest every time because he knows it's her way to seek courage.

The hand he had around her waist skims up along her back to her skull which he tenderly massages before burying his nose in her thick locks. She washed her hair the night before and it feels so soft that it's almost a reflex to take her deeper into his arms.

A moan comes out of her lips against the skin of his neck. Stiles still doesn't know how it's possible for someone to feel so many things from a simple sound, but he does. His smile broadens and it feels like his chest is drawing him forward, drawing him to her. Always her. Love bursts out of him in tiny kisses in her hair. She returns each of them in a slow, hypnotized rhythm that overwhelms Stiles with a strong sense of fulfillment.

"Stiles…" she sighs, sneaking her hand between them to rub his chest. "Weren't you supposed to silence the alarm yesterday?"

"Sorry, must have forgotten."

"But it's the holidays…" she wails in a sleepy voice as her body keeps craving more proximity. Stiles parts from her hair and lightly presses his thumb on her temple to make her lift her head.

"I'm sorry, my heart. Will you forgive me?"

Finally, she opens her eyes and flashes him a grin full of tiredness and love, the one that melts on his skin and entire body like chocolate, giving him the feeling of floating in honey.

"Kiss me and I will."

Stiles lets his hand find her cheek and kisses her deeply, barely giving her time to catch her breath before kissing her again to feel her short moans vibrate in him and echo through his flesh and bone. Her skin is hot, her legs already tangling up with his under the cover, and if Stiles wasn't so impatient to show her his surprise, he would stay there against her for hours.

"Alright, I forgive you," she mumbles a bit winded, eyes roaming all over his face.

"So… Since we're awake so early and it's sunny…" He tries to keep a straight face, but he quickly has to look away from her because she is already smirking, and he is sure she figured him out.

As if to prove him right, she redirects his stare on her, hooking her index under his chin.

He scoffs nervously. "Wanna… I don't know… take the bikes and go for a ride?"

"Huh huh? Could this have something to do with the surprise you told me about two months ago?"

"Maybe?"

Cheerfulness seems to bubble in her chest, and she eventually says yes, agreeing to not pry any information from him in exchange of a few more kisses. They idle in bed for a few more blissful minutes before having a big breakfast while Stiles is tempted more than once to blurt everything out.

There is a century-old abandoned mansion a few hours away from town. Scott and Kira were the ones who discovered it. It's for sale, and the owners are desperate to get rid of it. They didn't have time to go there together, but Stiles contacted the bank for information about loans and met the owners once. Today, he wants to take Lydia there.

They will leave right after eating and ride at a tranquil pace. The sun is balmy outside, and they have all day.

Stiles has stopped counting the number of times they have done this – wake in each other's arms and have a late breakfast...because it's impossible to leave the bed when Lydia makes him feel like his slightest touch is all she has been craving the entire week. The sheets rustle softly, hugging the movement of their legs and hips, each of them seeking more caresses while they speak in hushed tones in between kisses and giggling. They make love sometimes, but not always. Sometimes, they forget. Sometimes they don't even need that physical intimacy to feel everything with the same intensity. They have late breakfast, and they hide all the clocks because it would invite the real time in their routine and neither want that. This is their own space, their own time. They pack lunch, snacks, water, and their bathing suits on occasions when it's sunny like today, and they take their bikes.

Today is sadly too cool to bathe in the river, but Stiles is too anxious to get to the mansion anyway. He hears Lydia pack a few things while he clears the table and remembers a time when she told him she hated camping. His mind suddenly wanders in a daydream, bliss floating on his lips. So many things have changed… How many will follow?

Lydia leads the way out of town and quickly, the scent of pine and fir trees overwhelms their senses. Next to him, Lydia has her chin high, and a relaxed glee spread over her lips. She looks so much more at ease here, amongst the trees. She always has…

They follow the creek on their right until it meets the river and take pause there, as they always do, to rest on the shore. There's a waterfall upstream. That's where they spent their honeymoon, camping and bathing for three whole days. Alone. They have been wanting to go back, but never found the time. Stiles hopes they will if it all goes according to his plan.

The river branches off on the right after the curve, taking the trees in its wake, but they keep following the road. On their right, the faraway mountains cast their silhouettes against the pale cornflower blue sky, and on their left, a wide and endless plain merges with the fluffy clouds on the horizon.

They are alone in the whole world for almost forty-five minutes on this portion of the road. Sometimes, when their weeks are too crowded, when they can't find their way into their own shelter, they drive there with the Jeep for sunrise or sunset and it never fails to do the trick.

There is a small town after that. Barely a hundred inhabitants, a gas station, and a diner. Lydia took Stiles there once. She discovered it with Kira and Melissa during their first year here when they were trying to find a place with decent pies for their _girls' afternoon_.

The abandoned mansion is a few minutes away from that town, slightly away from the road, where two statues of lions on the left guard the access to a long dirt path bordered by two rows of vine maple trees.

Lydia stops just before the statues, putting her foot down and turning to Stiles.

"And now?" she is beaming at him, excitement sparkling in her eyes.

He tries to keep a straight face as he points his chin to the dirt path. "We keep going…"

She gets back on her bike, and Stiles watches her go, leaving the electric impression of her elation in the tranquil air. He feels almost dizzy, his own shortness of breath mixing with the butterflies awakening in his stomach. Lydia's wheels make that distinct sound against the grit, and he closes his eyes. The breeze in the trees, the birds… They could be happy here. Not entirely isolated, but enough to live blissfully the way they want to. The mansion is big, but they wouldn't live in it entirely anyway.

When he opens his eyes again, he makes out Lydia's silhouette, already at the entrance stairs, waving at him. Longing pulses through his veins, and he hurries to get to her. She still has that same air of mischief when he lays his bike next to hers and without saying anything, he takes the keys from his pocket. Next to him, Lydia is restless, and if he didn't know her so well, it wouldn't draw his attention. All he sees when he looks at her is a joy so intense that it makes her irises sparkle.

He is about to ask her what she is hiding from him, but she cuts him off before he has the chance to open his mouth.

"Open the door…"

Her wide smile is far too suspicious to be innocent, and Stiles suddenly understands that it wasn't a coincidence if she took the right direction in town before seeking confirmation, as if she was suddenly remembering she wasn't supposed to know where they were heading, she also packed enough for the few hours ride, and mostly, she agreed way too easily to follow him without any question.

"You knew it…" he deduces him as she is flushing adorably. "You knew it, but there's more to it, you…"

The red on her cheeks blooms in a laugh so light it evaporates in the air. He knew he had noticed something different about her over the past couple of months, and it had nothing to do with her parents…

"We had the exact same idea, didn't we?"

But she doesn't answer, repeating him to open the door with a voice as light as her laugh.

"Wait a second… You knew the alarm was still on this morning!"

"Maybe… Open the door, Stiles!"

She is almost hoping up and down with eagerness, and Stiles's chest soaks up all the love around them. When he finally opens the door, she comes behind him, rises on her tiptoes and uses her hands to blindfold him.

"My turn now," Lydia states after kissing the nape of his neck.

They take a few first steps, staggering with wheezing giggles before Stiles hauls her up on his back and she guides him through the empty rooms until they reach one inundated in sun light. As planned, the owners took off the wooden planks protecting the full-length window, and a beautiful yellow light grazes the dark hardwood floor. It creaks under Stiles's feet and Lydia hopes that if they can do what she has in mind, that sound will become part of their daily routine.

"Don't open your eyes just yet," she makes him promise as she climbs down his back to position him right in the middle, facing the window. "Now, you can."

In front of them is a large terrace covered in weeds and beyond, the garden. Bushes of lilacs, daisies, violets, and dandelion flowers. Lydia keeps her eyes locked on Stiles, scrutinizing his reactions without missing a single one. When he turns to look at her, her heart leaps, begging her to get closer to him, and her feet follow the pull.

"It's not a wheat field, but it's just as pretty… When I saw this room, I immediately thought it could be the restaurant room."

His eyes widen. "You… They let you in?"

"Uh-huh…" she flirts, wrapping her arms around his waist to slide her hands in the back pockets of his pants. "I came here after work once and contacted the owners right after to view the whole mansion with them and they asked me if I was related to some _Stiles Stilinski_ … Apparently they somehow agreed to give him the keys…" she raises an eyebrow, making Stiles smirk and wink. "How did you even do that?"

"That's my secret… Maybe I'll tell you tonight when I show you the rest of my surprise."

"The rest?"

He nods, resting his forehead against hers and encircling her waist with his arms. "So, you're the reason why they wouldn't let me view the mansion before today…"

"Possibly," she winks at him with the same smirk. "I told them what I was planning, and they promised they would clean up some rooms for us."

She giggles when she feels the wetness of Stiles's lips on her nose.

"You're wonderful… How did this even happen? How did we have the _same_ idea at the _same_ time?"

"I don't know…"

Her pulse had quickened when she understood that the same idea crossed their minds, but it worked out perfectly. She tilts her head back with delight as Stiles's lips glide over her face, showering her with kisses in a softness and tenderness that only he has the secret of conveying. The sun warms up her back and everything feels so perfect in this instant that she wishes they could already stay here.

"When do you have to give back the keys?" she gushes in a breath that Stiles gathers on his lips.

"Tomorrow around noon…"

A smile forms in his kiss, one she imitates without even realizing it when she pushes slightly away.

"Do you mean, we can stay for the night?"

Stiles deliberately leans to her ear, his fingers teasingly following the seams of her jeans. "We even have electricity, and Scott sneaked in a mattress, a microwave, and a kettle. We just need to find the room." He takes a small step back to take her hands and throw her an apologetic glance. "I wanted to make this more romantic, but it got complicated to organize without you noticing anything."

"We could eat lasagna from a plastic box in the dust, I would still love it."

"Perfect, 'cause that's exactly what's gonna happen."

Lydia snorts, hiding her face in her hands and leaning them on Stiles's chest, waiting for his arms to envelop her. They stay like that for a minute until Lydia takes him by the hand. "Come on, let me show you the rest."

Together, they wander through the many rooms, sometimes losing their way in between staircases that seem to materialize behind every door and all the hidden areas, already picturing what kind of work would need to be done, what each room could be turned into… It's not always easy because the walls have completely collapsed in some rooms and other areas are blocked by iron chains for safety reasons, but the owners told them both not to worry. They have an agreement with the state of Oregon that will provide financial support to anyone who would buy that mansion and follow a precise plan of renovation to make it a historical building. The future buyers will have to come up with a plan to open the main area and right wing to tourists with the possibility to keep the left wing as their home.

The left wing doesn't wear the effect of time as much as the rest. It's also smaller than their current house, but it's maybe not that bad considering there is only a fireplace to heat the living room and a few stoves scattered in the other rooms. Lydia keeps smiling at Stiles, and she would have made fun of herself if Stiles wasn't doing exactly the same.

Hand in hand, they explore the garden until they find a bench under an old lime tree where they sit for a while. With her two hands gripping the edge of the bench, Lydia listens to the silence, soaking up everything about this moment, about that new step they are about to take. Together.

The softness of Stiles's hand covering hers makes her come back to reality. His voice melds with the rustling of the leaves in the light breeze.

"Alan told me he was flying back to the Philippines next week."

Something heavy settles in the pit of her stomach. She didn't have the chance to talk to him about it yet.

On the back of her hand, Stiles's fingers play with her knuckles and he resumes. "He um… He told me you didn't want to go with him…"

"Yeah… I… I wanted to tell you about it, but um… I hate ruining our moments together with supernatural stuff."

"I get it, don't worry. I'm not mad or anything, it's just… Why did you say no?"

She wasn't expecting this and frowns at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," he scratches his neck absently, wetting his lips and Lydia knows it's worry she is picking up in his eyes. "It would be only for two weeks, and it's the opportunity you have been waiting for your whole life… A chance to know more about your powers and abilities."

It's what Alan said when he called her, asking her to accompany him to meet a woman with the same abilities. There is an entire community around her. They welcome anyone willing to do good in the world. Alan already met her a few times. In a week, he is flying back to set up a series of actions that should make the community known outside of the archipelago. Their goal is to help girls like Lydia, the ones who dig their own grave with each step, make them realize they are not alone. They want to organize conferences at the Nemeton in Moldavia, write books and articles, send emissaries all over the world.

Lydia believes in this project, but she also knows what is on the other side of that coin. A new immersion in the supernatural world, and she doesn't want that. That's what she explained to Alan, and Stiles nods when she repeats those words.

"I get it," he exhales in a complete stillness that is so unlike him that Lydia starts to worry herself. "But Lyds, I can see that you're dying to do more. When you were helping Andrea, you looked… I don't know, like you had found your calling, like that was what you were meant to do."

"That's true… But nothing stops me from doing that here, with you. Whether I go with Alan or not, it won't stop them from setting up that project."

"But don't you wanna be part of it?"

"Yes, I do… But in my own way. In _our_ own way. I could tell Alan to give our address to anyone who would need my help like he did with Andrea… I could have… I don't know… Something like support groups where Scott and Kira could come to participate and share their experience, even you…"

Her words seem to appease his tensed features and when she stops talking, the usual softness of his eyes has replaced their color of concern.

"I didn't hesitate, you know," she continues gently. "Even for a second… I was already protesting internally when I understood he wanted me to go with him. I told him no. I hadn't thought of having support groups yet, but I told him no right away. Maybe there was a time when I would have hesitated, but not today. Maybe that's why I didn't talk to you about it. It was so obvious. It wasn't even a question. Can you imagine everything that would change in our life if I decided to go? I like the direction we're taking. Together. That's what I want. You're right when you say that it did a lot of good for me to help Andrea, but I need our life before anything else. I need you, what we're building. I think Alan understood because he didn't even insist. I think he mostly called me to let me know…" She lets out a faint laugh and leans her cheek against Stiles's shoulder. "Stiles, I need you, and more than that, I want you… I choose you. You're the right path for me, I know it. All the rest is meaningless without you."

She can feel the effect of her words on him, and it mesmerizes her. Something loosens in him. She can feel when relief overwhelms him. He sniffs, and she shifts to take him in her arms, planting a kiss right the crook of his neck. It makes him giggle and a small tear rolls down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he falters, wiping his cheek and grinning nervously. "I'm just… I think I'm tired of having so little time with you, but I also got scared you would regret not going with Alan."

His vulnerable tone pierces through her heart, and she takes his hand in hers, nestling it on her lap. "I know, babe… But I won't. I would regret being away from you, though. Just the thought makes me sick. And besides, it's two weeks… Fourteen days… Fourteen nights without my goodnight kiss, fourteen mornings without my human heating pad to snuggle up against…" She makes a shuddering noise and lifts her head to see Stiles smile. "I wouldn't make it."

"Yeah, me neither…" He sniffs again, but her words seem to have erased all trace of sadness in his voice. "That's a great idea, by the way. Support groups… I can see you doing that."

"Yeah?"

Hope and excitement form an armor around them, and they keep talking, diving into their future here like they dive in each other's dreams. When they start getting hungry, they go back inside to the room that Scott and Kira set up for them on the first floor. They dusted it, putting an air mattress and a small table with two candles. There is a thin curtain on the window protected by planks of wood and when Stiles parts the curtains, the orange light of the setting sun filters through a few holes.

After eating, they lay on the mattress, Stiles immediately opening his arms to welcome Lydia as close as possible and letting his fingers run into her hair. Her own hand finds the smooth skin of his stomach under his shirt. Enthralled by their caresses, they barely realize that the night gradually swallows the room. The only light left is one of the last candles on the table.

"So, this is it," Lydia whispers. "We're gonna quit our jobs and come live here, where we'll spend the rest of our life… You'll have your restaurant, I can take care of the museum part, maybe we can even get authorizations to rent two or three rooms…"

"Yeah…"

Time seems to stand still as they both realize what it means.

"We'll be together," she murmurs even lower. "Forever. I would have freaked out… before. When people asked me if I could see myself doing research for the rest of my life, I would freak out. It seemed so long and empty… The rest of my life…" She props herself up on her elbow, her hand under his shirt drawing circles on his chest. His irises shine in the near darkness, it hypnotizes her. "Now, I can't wait, Stiles. I can't wait to see what the rest of my life, of _our_ life will be. Here. We're gonna spend all our days together." The same fervor adorns their lips, and Stiles cradles her face as he nods, still speechless. "I know it won't be easy all the time, but we'll be together."

Slowly, she leans to drop a slow kiss on his lips, and it seems to help him find the strength to move. The mattress shifts under his weight when he rolls them over to lie above Lydia.

"And you now what?" he whispers, a playful spark in his eyes making her blood pulse faster at her temples.

She wordlessly shakes her head as the flame of the candle gets swallowed by the night.

"Even when we can't pay all our bills, I'll always be there to keep you warm."

"I'm counting on it," she answers him in a smile, letting her vision time to adjust to the complete darkness. She can't see him, but her body knows how to make room for him, and she lets their limbs find the rest they are craving in the shelter they each provide for the other.

"It's gonna be perfect, Lyds." His sleepy voice breaks the silence and resonates into the marrow of her bone. "No, it doesn't mean we won't have any problems, or that we'll be living in a constant joy, but we'll be where we have always belonged."

"Together."

"Together. Always."

His lips find her temple like they do every night, and she pushes against them for another kiss… Like she does every night. A ray of moonlight showers his face. Even half asleep, his entire being is swelling with love for her, and Lydia remembers what she has thought a thousand times since they moved in Oregon and a million times more since always.

She loves him.

She loves their problems. Always has.

She could spend her whole life solving them with him.

Together…

Forever.

* * *

It's November, and it's already freezing. Even though the renovations go well, it's just beginning. Stiles and Lydia still have to camp in their own living room because the bedroom has some serious thermal insulation problems. They set a tent next to the fireplace and keep the fire alive as long as they can every night. Despite this problem and the occasional frustrations, they both wake up every morning with incredible energy.

Today, a new stack of wood arrives for the fireplace. Stiles is paying the delivery person when he spots Lydia coming back from her morning walk with Hope, their white Swiss Shepherd puppy. She talks with the driver for a while and waves at Stiles when she spots him through the window.

A few minutes later, she is by his side, Hope immediately heading for her spot next to the fireplace.

"As I was saying to your husband, we won't be able to come back before January, but you should have enough. We brought a little extra in case, and we will only charge you for what you use."

"That's great, thanks!" She answers him, taking off her coat, and scarf before laying them on the back of the couch, her cheeks still red from the icy wind.

There is something so simple and domestic about it that Stiles feels his chest brim with a strength Lydia only has ever been able to ignite. She must feel it somehow because as the man is filling the bill, she stares up at him and grins. He can feel her trying to reach out to him, and he answers, letting their soul embrace in their own space and time.

"Between you and me," the guy tells them, engrossed in his documents. "I'm not sure you fully realize what it means to keep that fireplace as your only heating system. I won't insist about the electrical system if you really don't want it, but how long do you think you'll be able to _live_ like that?" he asks, pointing at their tent, drawing Stiles's attention.

There's a lot of sympathy in his voice, he seems to really be concerned about them, and maybe he is right. They kept refusing the idea of radiators because so far and despite all the complications, it has been a blessing to take everything as an excuse to snuggle up with Lydia under thick covers. Maybe they'll get tired of being so cold every day in Winter, but all he can think of right now is that their problems are his favorite ones to solve.

And never has a question been easier to answer.

When that simple answer leaves Lydia's lips, it sounds even more beautiful.

"Forever."

He looks at her and everything else vanishes in the green of her eyes. Right there. That's where the answer has always been. Stiles thinks he has always known that answer – ever since the day he was told to sit beside Lydia in class, ever since the day she started doodling on a separate piece of paper.

 _Forever_.


	25. Epilogue - Our Own Cardinal Point

**A/N: This is the end :D Thanks to all of you who read it, don't ever hesitate to leave a review, they are always appreciated, no matter how long or short they are...**

 **All the poem I used, including the one here are written by Tyler Knott Gregson. If you like them, I can only recommend to check his Instagram page, they are all amazing.**

 **I still have a lot of Stydia stories in mind, so I'll see you soon!**

 **Enjoy...**

 _There are four_ , Alan told Lydia a week ago.

Four.

She is only realizing now what it means. Four individuals with four different stories. Four different traumas that will all sound familiar… Four different souls who are desperate for a solace, someone to help them, someone to hoist them up and lead them to the light.

Four… Liz, Rose, Melanie, Donna.

And Lydia only has two arms, two hands.

She arranged a small cocoon next to the fireplace in their living room, away from the noises of the hammers and electric saws. Spring is whirling and swelling through the curtains of the glazed door and despite the agitated wind outside, the atmosphere inside is cozy and welcoming.

At least, she hopes so.

They should be here any minute now, and she checks once again that everything is there. Enough space to sit, cushions, blankets, tea, and cookies… She tries to tame her beating heart, mumbling to herself that she has already done this and that everything went well. The memory of Andrea, barely three days earlier comes to her mind. She dissolved into tears of gratitude in Lydia's arms when she finally found the courage to call her mom and go back home.

Lydia can do it again. She is not alone. Stiles is there too. He is affixing shelves behind the bar in what will become the restaurant room, and she senses him in her mind, tucked in her heart. She can even feel the warmth of his palm over her fingers when she starts fidgeting with her necklace. She stops, laying her hand flat over the wolf pendant that reminds her of Allison. Both she and Stiles surround Lydia. She is not alone.

At this moment, Hope walks in, adding her merry presence to the list and drawing Lydia's attention outside. The four girls are approaching. Lydia winces when the excited ball of fur launches at them, and they cling to each other in apprehension. But the girl with the long, dark hair is extending a timid hand towards the dog who immediately rolls on her back for some strokes.

By the time they reach the living room, the girls are already laughing together, and Lydia can't help winking discreetly at Hope, scratching behind her ears as she sits at her feet. She is not alone.

The first one to tell her story is Melanie, the youngest. It's impossible to not notice the way her eyes roam over every single detail in the room like she is making an inventory of everything, just in case. There is something heart-wrenching about her, about the pain she is wearing like a scarf around her throat. Like a rope. Lydia resists the urge to touch her neck, she can feel an invisible hand winding around it, gripping it tighter with each of Melanie's words. Each of them opening the gateway to panic a little more until she feels overwhelmed, brought back to _before_.

The same happened with Andrea the first time but… Andrea was just one person.

Today, there are four, and each of their presence is filling the small room, as if all they have been waiting for was the opportunity to be heard, to be allowed to burst out, and Lydia doesn't know how to deal with it.

The girl named Liz is laying a reassuring hand over Melanie's forearm when someone faintly knocks on the door leading to the hallway. It's Stiles. Lydia doesn't need to see him to know because the pressure around her throat already feels like a mirage.

She excuses herself and crosses the room to get to him. Her feet barely touch the ground, her whole body being carried by the beating of her heart.

She opens the door just a little and finds him leaning against the frame, his face a few inches away from hers. A smile from him is enough to make her feel sheltered.

"Stiles…"

"I have something to show you, can you come with me? It won't be long."

"I…" Peeking over her shoulder, she sees Liz still talking to Melanie, their hands clutched together. The two others, nodding along and wiping their tears. "I don't know…"

"Look..." Stiles resumes softly, "you made them feel comfortable already. I bet they can handle this by themselves for a little while." Lydia feels the graze of his finger against her hand, still wrapped around the door handle. "Come get some fresh air, my love. You need it."

She stares at him and only realizes that Hope has joined them when her wet muzzle brushes her knee. Lydia quickly runs her fingers through the dog's fur, smiling down at her, then averting her attention back to Stiles.

"See, she agrees with me." The wink he uses as a punctation mark goes straight to Lydia's stomach and she can feel some of the tension in her shoulders giving in.

Stiles felt everything.

At first, it was just a slight anxiety, a normal reaction to a situation like this one. But then… Then, it turned into something darker, something that wasn't _hers_.

It baffled him at first. Never in the years they spent together since they came back to Beacon Hills and learned how to meld their souls and consciousness had it happened. Nothing and no one had ever broken into their space, even her parents, even that time he tried to accompany her in one of her fugue states. It was always just them.

When he tried to reach her and couldn't find her, he understood what was happening. The realization sank like a rock in the pit of his stomach, and he had to prop himself against the wall to keep his balance on the ladder he stood on. Lydia was lost and didn't know what to do. To him, it felt as if she was trying to invite these girls into their circle, and the fragile balance they had managed to create was flickering under the weight of their torment.

Some unknown force was drawing her to the darkness. Like what Peter used to do to her. Except this time, she was an unlucky casualty, a small piece of cardboard floating in the sea and being carried away by the current, buffeted by the storm…

Stiles couldn't leave her alone. His heart itself seemed to be pulling at his muscles, calling him forward, answering to her own pull at the other end of the tether between them. Running through the busy hallways, he could almost hear her feebly exhale his name, answering her however he could, knowing she wouldn't hear him. He still had no idea what he would tell her, what he would do, but as ever, the answer appeared the second she opened the door, peering at him like he was her salvation.

He wasn't. He has never been her salvation. He could have never saved her if she hadn't been there to save him. What they have built, what they will keep building for the centuries to come. That's their salvation. She knows it, she just needs to be reminded of it.

He doesn't hear what she says to the girls inside, all he hears is her faint approval. She repeats a weak "okay" twice and each time, it sounds like the tiny word is trying to clear a path for air through her lungs.

The second he closes the door behind her, she lunges into his arms. He is covered is paint and dust, he is sweating and probably smelling, but it doesn't stop her from clinging tightly to him until he feels the familiar curves of her stomach and chest against him. She clutches at his shirt harder as her whole body is trembling from silent sobs, her skin almost shaking.

"Lyds… I'm here, I'm here, baby. It's alright."

Her head is in the crook of his neck, nodding, and he cradles her cheek, coaxing her to meet his gaze with soft brushes from the tip of his thumb. One glance from her is all his heart needs to sigh in relief. Her smile is a little too wet from unshed tears, her eyes shimmering a little too much in the light pouring from a window behind him, but she seems to be breathing better.

That's what he always wants to be for her. A place where she can rest, a place that makes her feel safe, loved and understood. There is no alleviation for him until he can sense her melt against him, all her muscles and nerves finally finding some solace. His grip around her waist tightens a little, just enough so she knows he is there, that he could find her anywhere. He did find her, after all. Over and over again. Across an ocean, through countless countries, years that never seemed to end and dreams that always ended too soon.

There is something in the way her stare stretches across his face, in the way one of her hands seems to waver on his hip and travel to brush his chin like it has been hypnotized… Like she is seeing a lot more in him than what he thinks of himself and as usual, it renders him speechless, weakening his knees.

"I… I'm not ready Stiles… I don't know how to do this," she whispers in a tone that breaks his heart. She says it like it's a shameful secret, like she should know how to do this, like she thinks he could think less of her and he hates it.

His fingers find hers on his chest and he squeezes them, hoping his warmth could find a way through her unshed tears, a way to help her wonderful soul and heart to bloom into endless fields of wildflowers.

"Yes, yes you are… Come with me. There's something you need to see."

With her hand secured in his, he leads her through the hallways until they reach the room he has in mind. There is rubble scattered all over the floor. Bricks from a collapsed wall, wooden planks, old copper wires and probably a few insect nests under the piles of fabric in the corners.

Stiles crosses the room in a few strides to open the window, brushing away the cobwebs and clouds of dust. The glazed door opens with one sharp pull and spring surges in with all its scents and lights. Lydia almost seems mesmerized, walking in a haze towards the square of sunshine that suddenly brightened the dusty wooden floor. For a moment, Stiles loses himself in her contemplation. She seems so much calmer, so much more like her divine self. But she isn't paying attention to her steps, and Stiles has to break himself from his trance to lunge at her when she trips over a nail in the ground.

"Careful, my little sunflower."

He catches her forearms, her fingers clutching at his as she stumbles and lands against him. For less than a blink, he saw the fleeting grin the nickname created on her lips, but the tiny fright she just had must have tensed her again, and she sobs in his arms, her heart racing close against his chest.

He can't do anything but envelop her his arms. The dust sticking to the beads of sweat on his skin is staining the collar of her orange and blue plaid shirt. It's her favorite one, the one she bought because it reminded her of one of his.

"You'll need to change, or they'll think I just wanted you to come with me to have steamy sex in the attic…"

A burst of laughter warms his skin and his soul. She lifts her head, and he sees the smile attached to that cherished sound. Soot and tears have mingled on her cheeks, but she is shining.

"Because _that_ won't be suspicious?"

"Would it?"

He knows he must be wearing the silliest wide grin, but he can't help it, and she doesn't seem to mind. There aren't a lot of things that make him feel better than knowing how easily he can relieve her. Quickly scanning the room, he spots the bucket of paint and the brush he saw the other day.

"Lyds…" He takes both her hands in his. "How did we save each other?" Her pupils are roaming over his face. He knows she has a hard time focusing, so he leans his forehead against hers and lays one of her hands over his heart. "How are we still saving each other?"

"I… I don't know…" her eyelids flutter close when she repeats her words.

She is on the verge of collapsing in his embrace again, and he wants nothing more than offer her his arms until the end of eternity, keep her safe with him. Only him… But he can't, she needs to remember. So, he leads her to the paint and the wall beside the glazed door. He settles behind her, covering her left hand to guide it to the brush and dip the tip into the black paint. Words leave his mouth without him having to think of them, like the combination of their two souls is enough to create them out of thin air.

"We saved each other because we're made of the same stuff," he reminds her, "because we recognize something in each other… You know, I once pictured you as my north. I would draw compasses everywhere with your initials inside. You were always pointing north."

Together, they draw a circle on the wall. Her left hand and his right one on top of it, perfect combination of two opposites.

"But that was wrong. That was unfair. You were never my north. You're this…this other cardinal point that I've always carried in me. And you always carried me inside of you too, remember, my little sunflower?"

They draw their initials right in the middle, each brushstroke longer than the previous one to mirror the abating quivers in Lydia's body. One stroke, one inhale.

She starts weighing heavier against him. It makes him feel her warmth, her _life,_ and he breathes her in, encircling her waist a little tighter with his left arm, her right one immediately covering it.

"We were always together, always. Remember? That's what saved us, what still is."

"We're our own cardinal point."

"Yeah, our own anchors. And these girls, they have each other too. Show them. You can be their north, show them the direction so they can find their own cardinal point. Their own circle with their four initials in the middle. Don't invite them in ours. Help them find their own, and stay with me… Please."

He brings his right hand above her right one on her stomach as she continues drawing the pack's symbol on the wall.

"Take a walk with them, let them talk to each other, answer their questions if they have some, but mostly, just… be there. I'll set up this room for next time. There's a sink over there and an access to the park… I think it could be a nice place, and maybe they could draw their own circles on the wall. In a few years, it could be covered in circles. All the little packs you'll have helped form. All the little families."

She nods, inhaling deeply. He loosens his embrace around her to give her the space she needs to expend and welcomes the back of her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Stiles…" She shifts to lay a kiss on his neck and the electric imprint of her lips remains on his skin. "I needed this."

"I'm here for you. Always."

"I know."

He can feel her hesitate in his arms. After a few seconds of silence, she dips the brush in the paint again and adds the outside circle with three sets of initials pointing up, pointing north. It doesn't take him long to understand what she is doing. Forgetting about the dirt on his skin, he plants a series of lingering kisses on the side of her head. The very subtle scent of her rose perfume behind her ear tickles his nostrils, awakening memories of long empty roads, scorching heat, and the first hours of a love story he never thought he deserved. An endless conversation between their two souls.

"There," she resumes, sounding far more appeased. "You parents and Allison. They were a good north to follow."

Stiles clears his throat before uttering a hoarse, "Yeah… Yes, they were."

"And they still are."

She gives him the brush, and he adds all the other initials. Scott, Kira, Grace, Melissa, Deaton, Hope… When he is done, she turns in his arms, and there is no trace of her sadness anymore, no weight under her eyes. Only certainty and gratitude.

They don't try to find any other words. There is no need. Stiles can sense Lydia in his mind, tucked into his heart even after he walks her back to their living room and closes the door behind her.

They are together. It's not the first time he had to do something like this, he knows it won't be the last, and he will be there next time.

As always.

* * *

The warmth of Stiles's body hasn't left Lydia, the weight of his love still sticking to her skin as he is closing the door behind her. She finds the girls talking, hugging, drying each other's tears, and Lydia already knows Stiles was right because the instant Melanie glances at her, a sensation of comfort envelops her.

And right in its center, a fierce glimmer of hope.

* * *

It feels like yesterday and yet, it can't be.

Today, the wall is covered in compasses.

There are so many of them, so many colors, handwritings, and shapes. All different, all beautiful and full of hope, all of them witnessing the miracle of healing, of belonging… And all the empty space that remains in the room, a blank canvas for stories that are still to be written, invented, lived.

Lydia's stare is drawn to their own circles. Joy gently creeps on her mouth as calm surges inside of her. Her mind wanders, visiting ancient memories and new ones with the same reverence and admiration she has every time they go back to the Stilinskis' house in Beacon Hills. She loves to think that someday, they will be able to watch that circle on the wall and retrace their entire journey from the day Claudia and Noah met, to the present. Realize how exactly all these initials are connected, how all of them, all of their stories are interlaced. One day, they will all sit here and tell their stories. All of them, together.

Her phone buzzes on the countertop with a message and Lydia rinses the soap off her hands to dry them on her apron.

It's Stiles.

 _The last clients are gone!_

She can hear his enthusiasm in the exclamation mark, and she pictures his face… It's 3 p.m. and their day is already over. The museum is closed for yearly renovations, there are no reservations tonight at the restaurant, no clients renting the bedrooms for a few days. They have the whole afternoon and evening for themselves.

Eagerness rushes inside of her like it always does, leaving only tingles in its wake. Even the leftover cake next to the sink makes her happy. Stiles baked it for her support group this morning and there is enough left for their breakfast in bed tomorrow. She can't help nibbling at her lips, almost feeling his body materializing behind her to wrap her in his arms and drop a kiss in her hair. His skin on hers, the velvet of his voice, the softness of his touch, of his love… They just came back from a month in Norway and it still feels like it wasn't enough, like she'll never have enough of him.

 _Just need to finish the dishes, and I'm on my way,_ she swiftly texts back.

Norway… Her mind keeps bringing her there, and it does it again as she hurries to wash the mugs and plates left in the sink. A lot of memories play in her mind, but for some reason, the day they crossed the Arctic circle on a small motorboat comes back the most. The trip was short, but still long enough for the humid cold to soak through their multiple layers of clothes and freeze them to the core.

After her quick shower, Lydia made some coffee and waited for Stiles. She sat at the table in front of a window with a steaming cup in her hand and her eyes locked on the horizon. The warmth of the shower was still holding her tight, wrapping her up in an invisible blanket.

She remembers the silence… A silence that had never been so pleasant, so mellifluous. The indolent rumbling of a few waves licking the shore, the occasional bird, majestic giant gliding in the air and diving headfirst into the frozen sea to catch a tiny fish. The sound of the shower, sharper, more familiar.

She could recognize the moment Stiles was washing his hair, when he was leaning under the stream letting water massage his shoulder blades and run down his back or splashing water over his face. She remembers how this voluptuous melody was slowly rocking her, lulling her into a sense of cozy routine. A routine from the edge of the world. It was only the beginning of the afternoon, but the Sun was already low on the horizon, its grazing light creating an undeniable impression of warmth. Somehow, it felt like home.

Once warmed up, they would set their tent outside and snuggle up under the thickest covers to wait for the northern lights. A discreet smile took shape under her fingers, hot from the contact with the stainless-steel cup. It would remind them of their first nights at home in front of the fireplace.

Lydia only realized the shower had stopped when two arms encircled her shoulders to draw her into a soft embrace. She lay her cheek against Stiles's. He had used the hair dryer and the scent of warmth was calling her closer and closer.

"You smell good," she whispered in a kiss against the hot skin of his neck.

Like a magnet, Stiles's nose buried itself in her locks. "You too."

He dropped a kiss there and sat next to her, breaking their embrace just long enough to pour himself a cup of coffee. With their sides glued to each other, they were facing the window, the boreal Sun. For a moment, Lydia watched Stiles, wondering how many times he had gazed at this Sun, looking for answers, questions he would have never thought of…absorbing a little of its light.

Maybe that's the Sun Lydia has always seen in his eyes. Maybe in feverish dreams, Stiles begged for those answers so many times that out of compassion for this kindred loving soul, the Artic Sun mixed with the brown of his irises, giving them their hypnotizing amber hue. Maybe Stiles has something from the edge of the world in him. A curse, a blessing…a miracle, no matter what.

Beside her, Stiles took a careful sip. The steam enveloped his face in a backlit halo that nothing on Earth could have replicated, and Lydia remained mesmerized in front of this masterpiece. She saw his smile forming, digging these dimples around his lips whenever he senses her stare on him. He eventually averted his eyes from the horizon to look at her, and she felt her heart smile at him.

Without a word, he laid his palm above her hand on the table, interlacing their fingers. His lips found the side of her head, and she pressed herself against him. _Warmth_. As odd as it sounds, that's what she remembers the most from their month there. Warmth… The warmth of her own Sun.

It hasn't left her.

She smiles absently at the plate she is rinsing, daydreaming of the campfire that night and of their two bodies snuggled up against each other under the fluorescent lights of the night.

She thinks of the way her words seemed to have affected him… _Even during the darkest nights, the Sun always finds the Earth_ … _That's how it felt when you found me, when we ran away together._

Only his eyes were visible between his scarf and woolen hat. They were bright, kindled by an internal fire that warmed her up and made her think that maybe she wasn't that far from truth.

The kiss they shared loops in her head. Stiles's words do too. _I'd find you anywhere_ …

She doesn't know if she is a child of the Earth, but he is her Sun. Of that, she is sure. She remembers the way her heart was beating later that night, reacting to every one of his touch, every one of his strokes, like everything he did was calling her closer because it would never be enough.

Heat rushes to her veins. As soon as the last plate is in the drainer, Lydia discards her apron, locks every door behind her, and hurries to get to Stiles.

She finds him in the restaurant kitchen, hears him rummaging through the broom closet. All the chairs are perched on the tables. On the terrace outside, Hope is lying in the sun, her ears flailing about to chase a few flies without much success. Lydia doesn't repress her smile. Everything is so quiet… The yellow garden hose, neatly coiled around itself next to the tomatoes, seems to be taking a nap too.

Even the light has something to say, something to add. It's funny how things change. She used to find harmony by escaping in her own mind and now, her reality itself carries it to bring it to her without her never having to ask. Peace is overwhelming her, and she savors it with a smile. Slowly. Each inhale an invitation, each exhale an anchor for her soul.

She takes a few steps closer to the kitchen, putting away a few glasses behind the bar out of habit when finally, a familiar arm winds itself around her waist and cherished lips drop a kiss in her hair.

"Can I interest you in a brunch of desserts with me outside?" he inquires as she spins around to face him, taking the mop from his hand.

In his eyes, she finds the same light that is pouring into the room, and she lets it trickle down to her soul. She nods, lifting her head like those actresses in the old movies they like to watch at the end of long days, waiting for the kiss she knows he wants to give her.

His knowing grin is the definition of everything perfect in this world, his lips taste sweet and his hair is soft under her fingers. She nods again in his kiss, telling him softly between two honeyed pecks that she'll mop the floor while he prepares everything.

Stiles eventually heads back to the kitchen while Lydia goes back to the sink behind the bar, like they have done a thousand times. She is still smiling through the sweet promises he left on her lips as she fills a bucket with water, adding a few measures of the special product they use for the old wooden floor of this room. The scent of lavender almost lazily spreads in the atmosphere. Through the ajar, full-length window, the sound of the water splashing in the bucket wakes up Hope. With an indignant whine, she rises her head before stirring and leaving to lie on a flat rock a little further away.

Shaking her head, Lydia chuckles and focuses her attention back to the bucket. There is something about taking care of this wooden floor that feels special to her, almost like a ritual. It's the original one. This floor isn't just a valuable asset, it's a witness to entire generations. Taking care of this floor is her way to bring them all back to life by imitating their gestures, and she likes to think that it helps give this room its special atmosphere. Everything here fills her with joy. The scent, the creaks, the humid sensation of the wood under her bare feet. Even the light always enters through the windows in a very special way that almost seems to caress the floor and the walls with love. With the passage of each year, she can sense the way Stiles imprinted his presence in the room. It's subtle, and she isn't even sure she could explain it, but it's everywhere. Walking in that room is like being wrapped up in his love, in his light, in his essence. It feels good.

She never hesitates to help him whenever she has the time, whether it's to clean up or even to lend a hand in the kitchen on busy days. She makes coffee, hot cocoa, and waffles, serves ice-cream, stirs pots, and tastes everything for him if he is too exhausted to tell. She soothes him however she can by memorizing each compliment clients tell her to pass on to _The Chef_ , making sure to convey the admiration and gratitude he deserves. Kisses help too, especially when they take him by surprise and make him smile shyly because he is so engrossed in what he is doing that he _forgets_ he is married to the cute waitress.

A smile tickles the corner of her lips, and she knows Stiles is there. She feels his stare on her. It's like a pulsating presence in the atmosphere, something so strong that she is sure it could materialize in handrails around her. She stops moving to feel his embrace around her even more. It radiates, and she isn't even sure anymore if the warmth she feels on her forearm comes from a ray of sunshine, or his own fingers.

She turns around, and he is there, propped on his elbows on the bar with a tray filled with pastries and pies next to him. Pretty as ever. Gaping at her like she is this wondrous being.

"I'm gonna go set everything up," he says with the same softness shining through his eyes. "Meet me there?"

"I will."

She watches him regarding her, watches his smile mirror the one she feels creeping on her lips. If a cloud hadn't darkened the sky for a few seconds, she wonders if they would still be lost in each other's stare days from now.

Stiles takes the tray in one hand and opens the window, giving a treat to Hope who is already sniffing the air.

The serenity of this scene washes over Lydia, and she dives into it without realizing that her arms are quickening, hastening for her the moment she would be able to join them.

* * *

After hesitating for a few seconds, Stiles decides to head towards the lime trees. It's a winding path that runs through the entire park and leads to an old pond. Halfway through, there is a clearing with century-old lime trees.

He waits until Lydia sees him to point in that direction from his chin. From the distance, he makes out her smile and a sign from her hand.

"Hope, soon you'll be the only one without glasses here…" he declares with a falsely serious tone.

She barks her reply, hopping along.

Stiles can't help smiling, "Whose side are you on?"

She might not be able to speak, but her amusement never goes unnoticed.

Lydia had seemed to like the idea too. One morning, he tried her glasses on because he was realizing that from their window in bed, he couldn't see the leaves of the trees as clearly as he used to. The twinge in his heart was quickly absorbed by the softness of Lydia's skin brushing against him as she was stirring herself awake and the burning hue of green that he spotted in her eyes.

"So, what d'you think? You like the glasses?"

She nodded, nipping the top of her thumb in a smile he could only describe as teasing. "It will go well with your grey hairs spreading everywhere."

Pretending to hold back a scoff, he stretched his arm to casually place the glasses back on her nightstand. "You didn't just say that my grey hairs are spreading, did you?"

"I don't know, did I?"

She giggled in anticipation of his touch, telling him she couldn't wait for his first wrinkle too and extending her hands in a feigned attempt to keep his fingers away from her ribs and waist. It only made him smile more. Soon, she was wriggling under his tickles and kisses. This laugh is his favorite, loud and chiming, arching her neck and offering it to his lips until tears of joy come rolling down her cheeks and she starts retaliating.

It is constantly echoing somewhere in his mind, etched in his brain. Maybe wearing glasses wouldn't be so bad after all.

The sweet scent of the lime trees makes him come back to reality. There is no way to know there is a clearing here unless you stand right in the middle of it. Around him, the five giants are soughing, the wind in their leaves scattering their thoughts and dreams, showering them above anyone willing to listen. Lydia told him to concentrate once, and he could swear he heard their voices. They all speak with a different one.

Stiles heads towards their favorite one. Its lowest branches almost touch the ground, creating the perfect sanctuary for their love. It's the oldest one, even older than the mansion, the owners told them. The mystery around that tree is what drew Stiles and Lydia to it and what made them build a picnic table under it.

The sun is beating down today, and the leaves seem to have infused in the heat. The subtle scent melds with a light softened by the cupola of greenery above him. Not for the first time, Stiles senses the attention of the world in this quietude. It surges inside of him and engulfs him until he feels part of it. The shimmering lime green around him, the wind quieting down, the birds chirping somewhere outside… outside of this world of perfumed light and green oxygen. It feels like a gift, a nest that was theirs to find since the beginning of time.

He sits astride one of the benches and sets the tray on the table. In front of him, Hope lays her muzzle on his knee and looks up at him with her big black eyes. Absently, he runs his hand behind her ears and grins, "So, you still think it's a good idea?"

His heart pounds eagerly in his in chest, and he slips two fingers in his back pocket to retrieve the folded paper. Hope whines at the loss of his hand on her skull, making Stiles chuckle. He unfolds what appears to be an old shopping list while he rakes his fingers through the long white hairs of Hope's neck. She whines more softly and closes her eyes under his strokes.

"I'll take that as a _yes_."

He smiles and reads the poem that is written on the other side. The piece of paper was crumpled into a ball when he found it on a table. Stiles almost threw it away with the rest at the end of his shift, but something had compelled him to stop and keep it.

The poem is only a few verses, but each word was like a brushstroke an artist had used to paint the most beautiful landscape, each stanza a world in its own. It was impossible for him to not make out Lydia's figure in the colors, the scents and the memories each word was summoning. It was her. If someone were to invent a language to speak about her, that poem was the alphabet.

No wonder it was invented in their restaurant room. Lydia's presence is everywhere, grounding…

Everything changes the moment she walks into that room, like she is giving a purpose to all the elements around her. The light pouring in finally has a reason to caress the walls with love, her presence is even giving all the previous generations a reason to take care of that wooden floor. It has always been meant to creak under her lovely feet. She is the only one who knows how to play that instrument and he can hear the difference when he is the one making the floor sing. He feels her absence, and that's what this poem is all about. Summoning her presence, make her aura vibrate in the room again, give the life around him a purpose.

While tidying up the room, he tried to memorize the poem, one verse after the other with more diligence and seriousness he ever had in school. He turned the coffee machine off and wiped it to the rhythm of the poem, rinsing the sponge after each strophe, doing it all over again, setting the chairs on the table at every comma. The Japanese kanji and the arrow on his forearm brought back the memory of Allison teaching him this "memorization method", and he grinned.

Stiles had spent twenty minutes with her and Scott, cleaning up her kitchen while declaiming each verse, each strophe of a poem they had to learn, shouting it, even singing it. Stiles doesn't remember what poem it was, but their laughter apparently never left this part of his memory…

Another laugh brings him back to the present. Lydia's…

Hope is bouncing around her until a butterfly catches the dog's attention, and she chases after the tiny flying orange dot back to the mansion.

Lydia approaches, ducking under the curtain of leaves, and it's impossible to look at anything but her. Stiles loses himself in her beauty, in the delicious peacefulness sipping through his veins. He is so far gone that he doesn't realize that the poem is still in his hands.

Lydia points at it with her index finger. "What's that?"

He looks down and feels his heart lazily leap up to the corner of his lips. Catching Lydia's hand, he folds the paper and places it back in his pocket.

"A poem." He guides her, helping her sit astride in front of him. "I found it earlier on a table."

"Can you read it to me?" Her hands come forward to rest on his thighs, and she props herself on them to raise her head to him.

All he sees are her eyes. A green as sheer and mesmerizing as the cupola above their heads. He isn't sure if the leaves are reflecting in her eyes, or if it's the opposite. Probably the latter. He barely dares touching her, only allowing his hand to run down her cheeks until he can delicately seize her chin between his fingers and pick the softest red fruit on her lips. A smile shivers between them, and her body glides closer to his.

"I can even do better," he replies, catching her precious hands and laying them between them. "I tried to memorize it…" Something is fluttering in his stomach and he pauses for a few seconds to listen to it, chuckling. "I feel like I'm picking you up for prom or something."

"Am I still making you nervous?"

"You never stopped making me nervous."

There is nothing smug about the way his reply makes her smirk, and to prove it, she nestles his hand over her heart. Under his palm, he feels her chest regularly rising and underneath, her fairy heart racing. Love blossoms on his lips, and he bows to coat the sweet instrument with it. His kiss blooms into a delighted chiming sound, a vibration through her rib cage, one that makes her breasts swell.

Following her delicate and warm curves, he languorously straightens up, taking her in. She is holding her breath, bearing the grace of nature in her eyes. Through her, the Earth is watching him, waiting for him to utter the first word and finally be able to release a sigh. He doesn't know what he did to deserve such attention… such love, but he feels it deep into the marrow of his bones. It's beaming on him from the emerald depths of her stare, from everywhere around them.

As he pronounces the first words of the poem, he wonders if he hasn't dreamt this piece of paper found crumpled beside a cup of tea. Maybe if he looks at the shopping list again, that's all he will find. A shopping list. Because it feels in this instant as if the words are magically materializing between them, each of them an answer to a question that was asked back when nothing made sense, back when they had no idea an answer existed.

"You are cardinal direction

to me," Stiles begins softly.

He runs his thumb under her parted mouth and tenderly envelops her exhale in a kiss before continuing...

"lips as North

the anchor I seek,

the reminder of home

no matter how lost I

become.

East..."

He pauses to catch his breath, then carries her left hand to his mouth in another tender kiss.

"as left hand,

responsible for every word

you've ever written

to me, the ten percent

you belong to

that sets you apart

from so many others.

West..."

His other hand grazes along her right arm, and he plays an indolent rhythm for his words, using his mouth like a bow against the delicate strings of her collarbone and neck.

"as right hand, right arm

that wraps around

the rest of me,

the hold with strength

unappreciated,

the promise I will

be alright."

Her cheeks have flushed in a flawless pink hue, and she is faintly nibling at her lips. Stiles can tell she is trying to stay as still as possible to not fluster him more, and he is almost left speechless.

She gives him his words back in a sigh, a faint breeze rising at this moment to carry them closer to his heart. "What's south?"

He grins, getting as close to her as possible. His hands brush down along her ribs and hips to settle on her thighs and play with the fabric of her white dress. Her whole body seems to gasp, to tense and tense a bit more when he drops a kiss against her ear to whisper the rest.

"South

is unspeakable,

the gift, intimate and

holy, that I will

never stop trying

to deserve

receiving."

He wonders if she can hear his heart flailing about against his rib cage, if she can sense its need to nestle against hers, under the warmth of her breasts. Against his palms, her body relaxes, exhaling his name in that way she only holds the secret. That way that gives _Stiles_ a beauty he didn't know it could have. He keeps his eyes closed, the warmth of her skin guiding him along the curves of her face until he reaches her precious mouth, which he kisses like he has been lacking her oxygen his whole life. Everything melds, her hot breath, the fullness of her lips, the softness of her tongue, and the whirlwind of the lime tree scent around them, crowning them with small yellow flowers.

"It's beautiful."

"It is, and you're in every word, in every verse."

"So are you," her ardent eyes flutter open, swallowing all his words.

"I… I'm not left-handed," he tries with a crooked grin.

"You're still precious…" Her hand against his cheek coaxes his mouth closer to hers with caresses, and she kisses him again, wholly, with her entire body swelling to get closer to him. Always closer. Gasping, she continues, "You… You are cardinal direction to me too. My only cardinal point."

Her eyes are shining, welling up with emotion, and Stiles understands that it's not just him who feels the strength behind these words. Tucking his head in the warm crook of her neck, he hugs her. Lydia hugs him back, so firmly that he tears up too, and they cry. They cry without restraint, trusting that the waves of emotions surging inside of them will carry them safely through this ocean, where love mingles with nostalgia, where two become one and one is infinite.

Calm leisurely settles in them, and they wipe each other's cheeks, coating them with kisses like there isn't a more valuable treasure in the whole universe.

"Stiles…" Lydia says softly, chuckling as she glances at the table, "we should eat before we have nothing left."

From the corner of his eye, he catches two bees flying lower and lower above the pies. He chuckles with her and chases them away. Lydia shifts to face the table, but he doesn't move, coaxing her closer into the cradle of his body.

They talk, shake their heads, and laugh at each other's jokes. They share pies and kisses that taste like strawberries, coffee, and chocolate. On her serene face, Lydia wears the same happiness that is stirring inside of him.

It's their secret. This place, this brunch made up of desserts, these stolen moments where time doesn't exist. There is only the pulse of the Earth, the course of the Sun.

And them.

Without them noticing, the light changes, dims as the afternoon comes to an end. Stiles feels a pang in his heart when he realizes that the carefree intensity in Lydia's eyes as been replaced by a nostalgic expression.

He brushes his index against her knuckles. "Should we go home? It will be dark soon anyway."

She sneaks his finger between hers and shakes her head. "No, let's go to the pond."

With her hand squeezed tightly in his, he stands up, and together, they find their way back to the path as the setting Sun splashes its colors low on the horizon. They don't talk much. They have been talking the entire afternoon, and they've reached that point where shared silence is just as meaningful as any other word.

The same nostalgia Stiles read in Lydia's eyes surges inside of him. It's nothing bad, but he understands immediately because it happens once in a while. Maybe thinking of Allison earlier summoned her ghost somehow. He can feel her presence, holding Lydia's hand. He could almost hear both of them laughing in a busy hallway in high school. He lets himself get engulfed a little by that feeling, trying to be as discreet as possible to not disturb the two girls, maybe even wait until he can feel the presence of his parents…

Lydia must sense it because she squeezes his hand, anchoring him back to her, back to a warm Earth with her soothing voice. "Stay with me, my love."

She has her head against his arm, and he lays a kiss in her hair, quietly apologizing.

"You don't need to apologize for that, ever," she murmurs against his shoulder, her breath a warm summer breeze filtering through his skin.

He hadn't realized how cold he had suddenly gotten, and guilt crawls beneath his flesh.

"But you know you can't do that alone," she continues. "Stay with me."

"I am. I am with you. Always, Lyds."

She flashes him a smile containing all the mornings they welcomed together, under cloudless sheets or crisp skies. "I know."

She squeezes his hand again. They continue towards the sun until they reach the pond, where they sit side by side on the pier, bare feet dangling a few inches above the water lilies. With his hands gripping the edge of the wooden plank, Stiles observes small fish gathering in front of them to draw ephemeral shapes on the surface of the water. From the corner of his eye, he catches Lydia's toes wiggling to tickle the sole of his foot.

He leans against her, already feeling a crooked grin on his lips, "You and I both know who is going to lose at this game." He hasn't finished his sentence that he is already passing his arm around her waist to teasingly run his nail up until her ribs. It makes her giggle in that charming way he loves so much, so he does it again and again, thinking he could get drunk in the way her body responds to him.

"Depends on what you call _losing_ ," she tries, squirming in delight as he suddenly decides to change tactics by attacking her stomach until she does the same and they are both panting and laughing.

The look of sheer happiness on her face makes him stop, and he relishes in the buzzing hush that comes in the silence of the afterglow. He closes his eyes, breathing her in with his nose buried in her hair. She smells like summer closing in. Maybe the lime tree shared a few notes of its perfume with her. It wouldn't surprise him. Trees love her, the Earth loves her. He loves her.

Without a word, he lies down, his hand absently following her spine while he watches her. The light of the setting sun behind her forms a halo around her precious hair, a crown for his Venetian goddess. It makes his chest swell with an air he knows well.

Lydia is a force of nature. It's a certainty he always knew. Even before everything, even in their childhood. It simply became clearer as they came to understand how her powers work.

Now, it's not just a certainty. It's a truth. She is this strength sculpted out of the Earth herself, this strength that draws its energy from the rocks, the fields and the stretches of lakes, from the mountains and the trees. She is a child of the Earth.

Eventually, her eyes fall on him. She has that expression again. The one he noticed in Norway as the boreal Sun was setting. One she must have worn a thousand times over their years together. How did he never realize?

She watches him like she watches the Sun. The realization creates a lump of packed emotions in his throat.

 _Even during the darkest nights, the Sun always finds the Earth_ … _That's how it felt when you found me, when we ran away together,_ she told him.

Maybe that's really how she sees him, a child of a faraway star, a child of the Sun...

As he gazes at her, bathing in the setting sunlight, he understands why. There isn't a better frame for her than this light. It only exists for her, a sort of projection cast by every dream he ever had for her, every wish. A mere extension of himself. It holds all the love he still has to express until there is nothing left to add. Until each of her cells have been replaced by this light, their bodies and souls finally one – made immortal.

She smiles at him, and in this smile, he sees the ones from the past as well as the ones yet to come. Everything contained in the word _memories_. The sadness and the happiness… always shared. The memories anchored in a reality that is nothing but theirs. It doesn't exist in a wheat field or on a distant planet, but right here, with her, in the middle of lime trees and wildflowers, on a ground that generations of footsteps blessed for them before they even knew it was there, a reality where Hope is always somewhere, chasing butterflies or taking naps in the sun or in the shadow of old trees.

When Lydia reclines to drop a lingering kiss on his lips, he wonders if the boreal sky kindles in green and pink with each of their kisses, and each of their smiles and wiped tears.

He buries his hand in her hair as she rests her head against his chest, autumn field spreading on his torso, rising and falling.

"Will you tell me your poem again?"

Her voice vibrates through his heartbeat as she speaks, and he his sure that in in the sky, the Sun is blushing.

He recites it. Slower this time, in a hushed voice, one that hugs the wind tighter. He idles on each of the words, all of them taking shape in the orange of the clouds and blue of the sky. It's all there. All the words, their significance, the images attached to them… Vibrating in the colors auguring dusk, melting against Lydia's warm skin.

Her left hand squeezes his right on her stomach, and Stiles doesn't remember why he once thought that the world was mad at them. He thinks maybe he has been delusional for years, believing that it was conspiring to hurt them, believing that their troubles appeared the day it turned its attention on them.

It's the opposite. Their love is painted everywhere around them.

Maybe that's the curse of every tragic hero – of all the people who wear their emotions like a banner in their eyes and in their voice every time it breaks.

Maybe they can't see that they are the beloved children of a world that has no idea how to protect them and can only show them the way. A way fraught with pitfalls, sometimes going through endless wheat fields, crows hovering over… watching over.

He remembers a time when they drove together towards the sun, thinking they had found their way, had found a bannister in that spiral of violence, a way to fight against the world.

He also sees another version of them. Just them, bare in a river under the moonlight, vulnerable and at the center of everything, every sound carrying something frightening, any tiny animal in the night becoming a monster ready to jump at their throat…

But with her, he never felt stronger, safer.

The precious weight of her head leaves his chest; Lydia leans on her elbow, canopy of her golden red hair hiding them from view, isolating them in their cocoon.

"Where are you, my dazzling Sun?" she asks in a whisper, bringing his hand to her lips, "Are you with me?"

She must have sensed him drifting away. It's endearing how she still doesn't know that he never thinks of anything other than her. So, before straightening up to coat her in a tight embrace, he offers her one of the most beautiful words he knows. One that will forever be attached to her name.

"Always."


End file.
